Into the Deepest Darkness
by TheDayYouSaidGoodnight
Summary: Sequel to An Angel's Redemption "Three years will be like three days. I can’t wait to see you again." He was away from all he knew and loved...but a crisis would bring him back to her. Upon his return, danger awaits him. A quiet life would have to wait.
1. Turbo Suscipio

After a long hiatus from the world of fanfiction writing, I have returned, equipped with the plot and the characters of** Into the Deepest Darkness**. This fic is the sequel to **An Angel's Redemption**. This is rated T but it may go up in one or two chapters because of some themes and language.

To all those who enjoyed An Angel's Redemption, I hope you also support this sequel. Thank you so much.

DISCLAIMER: **Angels and Demons** (the book and the movie) don't belong to me. I don't own the camerlengo, naturally, as well as another character whom I will introduce here. I don't own Rome…or the Vatican. I just own some of the characters and the plot.

* * *

Chapter 1: Turbo Suscipio (Into the Whirlwind)

Gray clouds hung ominously over a city at the heart of the Italian Peninsula. The sky was lifeless, dull, signaling a storm brewing in the heavens, covering a thousand square kilometers. Indeed, the _ottobrate_, the beautiful October days when the sun shone on the city, were gone. November had arrived. The rains brought a kind of sadness, especially to a particular prisoner in a cell.

His cell was at the end of the ancient corridors of the correctional facility. It was a square room of less than 100 square feet. The three walls were made of concrete, whitewashed. The floor was cold to the feet. The back wall was where the bed stood. It was a simple piece of furniture yet still true to its function. Above it was a glass window, blocked by thick, unbreakable iron bars that disabled escape attempts.

The heating system was only a few paces from the bed. Backed up on the right wall was a plain chair and desk, with a black mug and a few pens scattered carelessly on the table. Iron bars comprised the fourth wall, enabling him to see his fellow prisoners and the corridor that separated the two sides of the prison.

The prisoner glanced at the sky, knowing that his release was far from near. _Two years for attempted homicide…_ He could see the dim Roman sky float above the _Regina Coeli_ prison. He had been transferred there a week after his interrogation and trial. _But I saved myself by confessing to the Polizia di Stato…here, I am safe. He will never find me. He will not know that I told them. They will find him. They will end his plot to destroy the Church._

He was kept safe because he was important to the investigation. All he knew was that his "master" lived somewhere near Genoa but he did not know the exact location. The foreigner just communicated to him via phone and met with him and other lackeys at a secret basement. The man always kept himself in shadow, even when they first met, so he could not describe the physical appearance, except for the eyeglasses that shone in the dim light.

_If only I knew more…this case would have been faster. They've gone through a few weeks of searching in Genoa, but they found nobody…_His soliloquy was disrupted by a warden. He was a tall man, swarthy, with piercing black eyes, severely cropped black hair and scars on his face. He was Sicilian, transferred to Rome after 10 years of good performance. His mouth was almost always in a perpetual frown. The voice that came out of that mouth was deep and booming.

"Abandonato, you'll be having a visitor from the _Polizia di Stato_ in about ten minutes." The warden said, with a bit of a wicked grin on his face. Officer Silvestro Marchetti may have looked intimidating and could be very stern, but he was actually very friendly and accommodating, which some inmates did not notice, because they were too busy being cowering at the sight of him and the other wardens.

This prisoner was a brave soul, however, and uncovered Marchetti's kind demeanor in time. "Oh no…don't tell me Commissioner Marino's going to squeeze my brains out. He scares me…" he said, cowering in his vertically-striped prison pajamas, which were too loose for his frame. "Don't worry, Giordano. Your interrogator isn't a _he_." Silvestro told him, winking.

"What does she look like?" Giordano said, squealing excitedly while running to the iron bars to look Officer Marchetti in the eye. "OH SHUT UP, ABANDONATO!" another prisoner shouted. "She's still signing a few forms at the office, but I heard from the other guards that she is the prettiest creature to ever set foot in the _Regina Coeli_ Prison." Marchetti said, winking at his ward.

"How tall is she? What color of hair?" Giordano asked, razor-cut hair swinging side to side as he shifted exasperatedly. "All I know is that she has luxurious black curls." Officer Marchetti said, scratching his head. _There could only be one person he's telling me about. _"I see someone approaching. I think it's your visitor." He continued, smiling slyly at the younger man, who sat at his bed, trying to calm down.

Heavy clicks of her heeled shoes grabbed the attention of all the inmates. All were surprised to see a woman who was dressed in something other than a police uniform or a prisoner's striped pajamas. Her appearance could be distracting but her eyes made it clear that she meant business. Before a lecherous old man tried to speak to her, she pointed her eyes at him shortly and continued walking. He did not dare say a word anymore.

She was about five foot eight, wearing 4-inch high pumps. She had long, wavy tresses, framing a light face with a ruddy glow. The only make-up on her face was a scant amount of black eyeliner. She did not wear any jewelry, not even a watch. She wore a white pleated blouse with high collars tucked into a black high-waisted skirt under a belted black jacket.

She stood still as she neared the end of the corridor, saluting as she saw Officer Marchetti, who was there for the purpose of watching over her as she talked to Giordano. "Inspector Helena Maria Gallego, _Polizia di Stato_." She said, introducing herself without much panache.

"Officer Silvestro Marchetti, _Polizia Penitenziaria_," said the warden, his dark blue uniform with light blue stripe straightened out. His hand was also raised in salute. He put down his hand and opened the cell with a key. Helena entered, this time, her heels no longer noisy.

Giordano straightened out his uniform and smoothed his messy hair as she came inside. The iron door was shut behind her. "Had I know that you would be here, Inspector, I would have tidied up." He said sheepishly. "I didn't come here as a sanitation inspector. Would you mind if I sit here?" Helena asked, gently dragging the chair from the desk. "No…" Giordano said.

"Giordano, the Police have been searching for that foreigner for weeks in Genoa and still no sign. Are you sure he was there?" she asked. He nodded. "Odd name too…Meurtrier Gris. I'm sure it's not his real name." Helena said. "It isn't. I just know it isn't. It sounds French but his accent isn't. It's more Northern." Giordano said, as if digging through his brain to answer his questions.

"Northern? Like Irish Gaelic? Scottish? English? For one thing, we police concede to the fact that the guy in the video and the guy who asked you to place these bombs are one and the same man. He could have used a voice changer in the video." Helena asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

"I've seen the video…and it wasn't his voice. It's far from English or Irish." Giordano said, trying to playback the man's speech. _There, I've got another proof that it isn't him._ Helena said, relieved to hear those words.

Trying to get other information from Giordano was not really easy since he did not know a lot about his employer. In addition to his limited knowledge, he would be spaced out several times, only for his attention to be called by the Inspector, and to be laughed at by the warden. The questions ended soon. This was the time that Giordano feared the most: Helena's departure.

"Just dig deeper into your head and you might find a few observations…either I or Commissioner Marino will come back here. Goodbye, Giordano. Have a nice day." Helena said, returning the chair and leaving. Just as Officer Marchetti was opening the cell, Giordano stood up from the bed and gripped Helena's arm as if he wanted her to take him with her.

"Yes?" she said, turning to him with a smile. "I overheard him talking to some servant of his saying that he'd be hiring a new chambermaid, a driver to replace his aging employee and a man with the organizational skills of a librarian. He'll be hiring in April. He wants to change his employees every six months to ensure that nobody completely knows of his plans." Giordano said, letting go of her arm.

"I will take note of that. Thank you, Giordano. Behave while you're here." She said, giving a last wave before exiting. Officer Marchetti locked up the cell and led Helena back to the lobby of the prison. She fiddled with something in her pocket. "Did you record your conversation?" the warden asked. "It's more convenient than writing it down." She said, musing.

There was no sound from either the law enforcers or the prisoners. The way down was silent, until Silvestro broke it.

"You know, I think Giordano's obsessed with you. He's been spacing out while you talked…and he seemed so excited to see you," he said, giving a small laugh. "Really?" Helena asked sadly. "He'll probably get over it. He shouldn't fall for his interrogator, should he?" Officer Marchetti said, grinning widely.

"Inspector, do you love another?" the swarthy warden said, the malicious grin still on his mouth. "Why? Are you trying to set me up?" Helena asked shamelessly. Officer Marchetti was silenced. "Well…not…really…I just think that he really likes you and…"

"He'd tell me that at the right place and the right time. Don't plan on matchmaking, Officer. He's eight years younger than me…Besides that; my heart does not fly indiscriminately. Have a nice day, Officer Marchetti." Helena said, entering an Alfa Romeo.

"I read your lips, partner." Helena's best friend and crime-busting partner was busy retouching the mascara on her eyelashes. "That's the problem if you're having that kind of relationship. It looks kind of taboo to get involved with someone the world looks at as a fugitive, but it's exciting, nonetheless. I hope he's as faithful as you are." Bella then looked at Helena, the former's hazel eyes gleeful. "Then again, twenty years of priesthood equals twenty years of fighting temptation."

"Bella Angela Moretti, I really don't know what I'd do without you." Helena said as her friend took off and led them back to the station.

* * *

_**"WHAT?!??!?!?!"**_

The whole office could not comprehend the burst of emotion. Their leader was a calm, level-headed man. He would not even drop his jaws in dire straits but this was different. Nobody dared to speak and interrupt him. "Are you even sure of that plan?" he said, scrutinizing the whole team standing in front of his desk.

"Yes, Your Holiness. It's the only way we can subdue 'Meurtrier Gris'. The basement where our witness met him had no documents related to Gris." Helena said, her voice softer than her normal tone. The four other policemen beside her dared not say a word. "We considered the consequences of this plan. And by us, I mean the _Polizia di Stato_ and the Swiss Guard." Inspector Moretti continued.

The Pope pressed his fingertips to his forehead, sighing. "It would be dangerous. He is a man of influence; of stealth…it would be difficult to infiltrate his domain, considering the fact that you still don't know where he resides." He said, laying his hands on the table.

"Your Holiness, we have considered that, but we have until March to locate him. The border police are also working the Polizia di Stato," short, stout Officer Gianni Valentin said, reassuring the worried pontiff. "If he will fight using stealth, subtlety and infiltration, I believe we'll have to fight the same way," the petite blonde, Officer Teresa Fabia, said. She may have not received the insult to the Church, but she seemed more vindictive than them.

"I have agreed to apply as a maid. All I need is to straighten my hair and change my eye color so that I can go undetected. So far, no one else has agreed to go with me." Helena said, looking at her colleagues, who were all unwilling to work under a feared villain.

The Pope's office was already gloomy because of the rainy skies, but the sadness echoed with their silence. They all looked as if they had no idea of what they were to do. "Think of a plan that would not endanger your lives. Whether it's one life or many, you cannot just risk it." The Holy Father said, genuinely concerned with the valiant staff of the police force.

"Whatever plan, approach, raid that the police does, there are always risks involved. Sadly, we cannot eradicate them. We can only minimize them. Nonetheless, danger is always a part of our job." Officer Sandro Guerriero said glumly. "Very well then. God bless you all. You may go," the Pope dismissed them.

The five officers were definitely modern in their sensibilities, but slightly traditional in their faith. They all kissed the Holy Father's ring before they went out and gave short bows before going through the huge doors. Outside the Apostolic Palace, under black umbrellas, the three female officers waited for their male companions to fetch the cars.

"Giordano told you that 'Meurtrier Gris' was not his real name. It was just a codename…" Officer Fabia said, turning to an aloof Helena. "Have it translated over the Internet," he said, her indifferent countenance unchanged. "Why didn't I think of that much sooner?" Officer Fabia said, scratching her head with a sheepish grin.

"That's okay, Teresa. We all have our moments." Helena said, downcast, even with the sun peeking from the rainclouds for a short while. "Don't tell me you've turned emo, Helena. That's the LAST thing I want to know." Bella said, wagging her finger at her best friend. "Hopefully, you're just missing a certain person who'll come back sooner than you think," she added, as Teresa stifled a laugh.

"But, if I may ask you…would time fly if it's his memory that floods your mind at night, stopping the very clock that turns your world?"

Teresa's giggles were silenced and Bella could not say anything. The only reply she could give was driving her fingers through her jagged light brown hair. "I'm sorry. I guess my heart took over my head for a while. Let's get in." Helena said as the two Alfa Romeos pulled up in front of them. Teresa went with Sandro; Bella and Helena went with Gianni.

"Len, I'm sorry." Bella said. Her best friend just nodded and gave a sad smile.

* * *

He was on his way home that night, shielding himself from the blinding rain with a broad umbrella. The streetlights glowed eerily in the mist; he was alone in that small street. Wearing a long-sleeved white shirt, a well-fitting vest and slacks, as well as shiny leather shoes and a scarf lazily draped on his shoulders, he looked every inch the Victorian gentleman.

His shoes plopped on the little puddles that formed on the curb, making an unmistakable sound as he walked home. _Is it also raining this hard back home?_ This little town where he was exiled to could be his home, but he could not feel its warmth. Avia, in Messenia, Greece, had been his place of residence for more than a month. He had known a lot of people, made some friends and (unknowingly) gathered a considerable bunch of admirers.

His habit of staying at the cliffs and releasing all his artistic energy was not changed by his busy lifestyle. He still sketched people, places and things. He wrote poems and learned how to play the guitar. _Your Holiness, thank you for sending me the sketchpad…and that leather-bound book._ In fact, his other skills helped him find an extra job.

_A middle-aged lady entered "Brew and Beans", the café where this exile worked. She was about 5'7 1/2", of medium build, with a few wrinkles on her forehead. She did not look so ragged and old; rather, she seemed to be aging gracefully. She had bright, clear brown eyes and voluminous brown curls._

_She looked around the café, which was full of both domestic and international tourists, all sharing stories and conversing. As she was offered a table by one of the waiters, she saw a small sketch of an olive orchard hanging on an opposite wall. She saw a few more sketches with the same style, only with different locations. After receiving her order of an iced white mocha, she turned to the waiter and asked._

"_Excuse me, do you know who drew those pencil sketches hanging on the walls?" she asked. The waiter's face brightened up. "Oh, the sketches of the olive trees and Rome? One of our employees drew them. He's not really an art master, but well-rounded. Quite a nice guy, good at singing and popular with the lay-deez." He said, his last word exaggerated. "Do you want to see him or anything?"_

"_Uh, alright." she said, quite unsure. She sipped the beverage with her straw as she saw the waiter call out an unusual name. "Patrick! Come out here. Someone wants to see you! No, no…just go. I'll be the one to watch over the brew."_

_After a minute, the man she was waiting for came out and walked to her table. Some tables were completely hushed when he passed through. His spiky, reddish hair, look-through-your-soul blue eyes and shy smile were showstoppers. The woman seemed to recognize him. _Oh my…isn't he the…_she thought._ Oh…you have nothing to worry about. You're not Catholic anyway.

"_So, you're the one who made these?" she asked, pointing to a drawing of the Roman skyline. "Well, yes. By the way, I'm Patrick McKenna…and if you watch a lot of news, you'd probably be scared of me by now." He said, grinning._

"_Well, yes, I did have a little apprehension when I saw you. Anyway, it doesn't matter. My name's Agathe Spiros and I'm an editor for the local paper. We have a little publishing house here in Avia and one of my illustrators resigned a week ago. I was looking for a new one when I came here and saw your drawings. Are you interested to take on this job?" Agathe asked him._

"_Uhm…" Patrick said. "I'll leave my business card with you. Call me if you're interested." She said, smiling at him. "Thank you for the offer." He said, inserting the card into his vest pocket._

_He told his host, Vasilis Stavros, that he had an offering an as illustrator for a publication. Upon showing the business card, Vasilis' eyes widened. It turned out that Agathe was a friend he had no contact with for ten years. Vasilis made it a point to come with Patrick as the latter filled in the job vacancy. There was a long conversation between the friends that left Patrick almost neglected._

_On Saturdays, he would be working for the paper, which came out weekly. On Mondays to Fridays, he would be in the café. His income was somehow augmented, though with a catch: Ms. Spiros was a spinster. She had made a few unwelcome advances to him._

_His colleagues at the publishing house shook their heads. Patrick would have to suffer this until Agathe could find another handsome bloke, preferably someone younger than Patrick's 38 years of age. She had always thought that Patrick was lying when he said he was 38. It turned out he wouldn't lie anyway. _

_His work companions respected him, but they lacked the warmth and gaiety of the café waiters. For one thing, at least they helped him seem so busy when Agathe felt like flirting with the ex-priest._

"_Would you like to go out later? It's going to be a cool, breezy Saturday night," she told him one afternoon, as he was scanning his editorial cartoon. Patrick sighed. He could not put up with this any longer. _I have to tell her…though it might hurt…and cause me to get fired.

"_I'm sorry, signora. I can't go. Pardon me for telling you this but… I already love another, and we made a promise that we be faithful to each other for the three years that I am exiled." He said, amazing his co-workers with his conviction. "Oh…I'm sorry, Patrick. I never knew…" Agathe said. "It's alright." he said, nodding as she went back._

_That was the end of those terrible days, benefiting both Patrick and his companions. He was content with his simple yet fulfilling life in Avia. He had a stable job, a good environment and friendly townspeople but there were a few pieces missing. _

_He missed some people in the Vatican. He also missed the books he borrowed from Mr. Franco, the elderly bookworm who had been his employer for a while. He had used the 180 Euros that the man gave as a farewell bonus to open a bank account. It did come in handy. He soon had enough to buy a cellphone for himself._

_He was really in the old man's debt though it was him who brought customers to the bookshop. He missed Feliz, the happy-go-lucky Siberian husky…but most of all, it was love he was looking for love._

_Only one woman could supply the aching lack in his heart…Helena._

His thoughts stopped as he saw a pair of blinding lights. His blue eyes shot open in shock; he thought he was going to die. Within a few inches of him, the lights stopped, and he clutched his umbrella tightly. A long, loud car horn pierced his eardrums.

The man in the vehicle put down his car window and yelled Greek profanities at him. Patrick faced the man, his icy eyes piercing through the man's soul. "I'm sorry for blocking your path. I can't speak much Greek yet, so please try to understand me. Please go on and drive." He said, disappearing into the darkness with his soft, quick steps.

He reached home, sighing as Vasilis welcomed him in. "What's the matter?" the middle-aged, Orthodox Christian, former Vatican employee asked, smiling at Patrick. "I almost got hit by a car because I was busy reminiscing on an empty street, hearing the raindrops fall in their stately grace," Patrick said, stowing away the umbrella.

"That was just too poetic for my ears. That's it. I'm going to hide the dictionary somewhere else." Vasilis teased, going to the kitchen. Patrick put his shoes in a rack near the door and walked through the short hallway. At the end was the back door. Near it was the stairs.

Patrick went to his room in the second floor. The room itself was three-fourths the size of his room back at the Vatican. Its entrance was a simple, varnished wooden door with a chrome knob. It had large windows that let in the breeze, but it had no balcony. The balcony had another entrance.

The walls of the room were also white like the rest of the house, and the floors were made of wood. The light switch was beside the door. He had no large bookshelf, just a small bureau that held his personal effects. Above the bureau was a simple oval mirror that delighted in the former priest's image. The wall opposite that held the large windows and the Venetian blinds.

Midway across the room sat his bed, brass-framed, with a white-and-blue motif. To the left of the bed was a table holding a lamp. Beside the table was a small shelf which held a dictionary, the Bible, reams of papers and a box of pens and pencils.

He turned on the lampshade and sat at the bed, looking at his book-lacked shelf. _I wish I brought those books with me…_Patrick thought, throwing his socks and vest to the floor, loosening a few buttons of his shirt and lying on the bed. He could remember that he was not yet done reading the last few chapters of _A Separate Peace_. He had no idea what to do the next day. It was a Saturday but work in the printing house had been postponed because of the heavy rains.

He brought out something from the drawer of his bedside table. It was a necklace, a cross necklace.

"_It's beautiful…" Patrick said, admiring the necklace. "It's from my biological father but since then, it was my own. With it, I want you to remember all we've been through even in a short period of time." Helena said, placing the necklace on his neck and locking it with the clasp. Patrick fingered the cross, reminiscing. When the voices of the Swiss Guards called out to him, he and Helena were at the porch of the Holy See in a few blinks. They stood behind one of the massive columns, hidden from public view._

_Everything he would bring was already in the helicopter. It was already 8:42. "Do you remember the family tradition for first times I told you about a few weeks ago?" Helena asked. "If you mean slapping me again…OWW!" a sudden hit cut off his sentence. "It still hurts. How about the next part?" Patrick said, as she immediately pressed her lips to his._

He smiled, remembering the tenderness of her lips plant on his. _Three years will be like three days. I can't wait to see you again._ The smell of dinner made him absent-mindedly wear the necklace and head downstairs.

* * *

A rainy winter passed, with a few snowflakes which melted away almost instantly. He spent the holidays writing in his journal, if not helping Vasilis in putting up a few decorations. Christmas was fast approaching; Patrick almost didn't see it coming.

On Christmas Eve, he was writing in his journal when Vasilis called him to come down and eat together with Vasilis' other drunk friends, including some people from the café and Agathe, whom Patrick still worked as an illustrator for. He left his journal open, the pen in the middle. It sat on the top of the bed.

Before he comes back, let's have a look at a few entries…

_October 31_

_There are a lot of kids asking candy from me. Vasilis didn't come home but he instructed me not to give the children anything. I gave them some anyway, it was already 10:30 PM and I wanted them to go home. It was already late. I walked the children down the block until they reached the street where their houses were. They're adorable little children, though they clung to me, saying they were scared of the dark._

_----------------_

_November 1_

_All Saints Day…sadly I can't go to either my mother's or my father's tomb. All I know is that they're in a better place…though I was the one who sent my father there. I hope he would forgive me. Wherever they are, I hope they're watching over me._

_---------------_

_November 6_

_I'm quite pleased with the editorial cartoon I drew. A lot of drawing could be beneficial. The other day I almost got into a fight with a customer. He was harassing a woman and I couldn't help but intervene. Maybe I should put my nose out of other people's businesses...but what he did was wrong...Alright, stop debating with yourself.  
_

_--------------_

_November 15_

_I happened to pass by a bazaar on the way home and I saw a necklace which looked exactly like the one Helena gave me. There was another one like it, only with a red color motif. I immediately bought it. I'd like to give it to Helena when I come home…yes…home._

_--------------_

_December 1_

_I'm wondering how the Holy Father, Chartrand, Mr. Franco, Lucia, Chiara, Elijah (the doctor) and Sabina (the nurse) are. Of course I can't send them a Christmas card or anything. I guess I'll just have to let these three years end…then I can send them a few gifts._

_--------------_

_December 8_

_It's the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. I could remember that we usually had a procession within the Vatican. Of course, no one celebrates it here since they're Orthodox. Vasilis and Agathe tried to pull me into a bar and meet women, but of course, I declined since I had work tomorrow and I think they've forgotten that I promised something._

_-------------_

_December 15_

_The days nearing Christmas are really peak seasons for people to go into a café. No wonder…it's somehow cold, but winter here in Avia is a bit warmer than it is in either Ireland or Rome. A few snowfalls here and there but they melt. I went down to the coast after work and the water was freezing. I went down there to try another angle for drawing. I also saw a few seashore animals and drew them. Had my teachers wanted me to really have an interest in Biology, they should have brought me here._

_-------------_

_December 24_

_It's time to celebrate the birth of our Lord soon. I could remember attending midnight masses with Mother when I was still young. When I was ordained, it was the first Mass I ever presided. I was exhausted after the Mass. I forgot to take off my shoes and just fell asleep on the bed after greeting my father 'Merry Christmas'._

_To everyone I left behind in Rome, merry Christmas. Be reminded that the Lord will come. I hope we are all ready to receive him in our hearts._

_Helena, I wish you're celebrating happily with Feliz and your friends. I lo…_

_------------_

Only a few more letters and his entry would have been completed. From Avia, one's view shifts to a room, also as dark as this one, this time, the window showed a skyline dominated by a huge dome. Nobody was in the room. The owner of the flat was downstairs with a few other police officers, laughing and sharing stories.

The black and white motif of the living room was a stark contrast to the colorful clothes the five people were wearing. A Siberian husky slept soundly in its basket in the distance, completely oblivious to the cacophony.

On the one-seater sofas sat Officers Sandro Guerriero and Gianni Valentin. Three female officers sat on the bigger divan: Inspectors Bella Moretti and Helena Gallego, and Officer Teresa Fabia.

"I could remember a few years ago, I was so drunk at a very formal Christmas party which was also a debut. Everyone was slow dancing while I was going from one person to another, dancing as if I was in a disco. Both men and women…when I found out what happened, I swore never to drink again." Sandro said, his speech slurring.

"You just did." Officer Fabia said, snickering. "That's it. No more wine for you." Officer Valentin said, taking away the bottle of red wine from Sandro and gulping it down for himself. "You told me that you're not supposed to drink. You have a liver condition!" Bella said, taking away the bottle. "It's just in moderation!" Officer Valentin retorted.

"Moderation? You drank three-fourths of the bottle!" Helena said, taking it away from Bella, who was about to drink. "And you…you told me you fall in love with people randomly when you're drunk. I'll be back in a moment, guys," Helena said, disposing of the almost-empty bottle.

After disposing of the bottle, she did not go straight back to the living room. She went up to her room and leaned on the balcony.

_Merry Christmas, Patrick. Feliz is okay, though he still misses you. Everyone else is okay at the Vatican, though they receive a few bomb threats or so. I have a problem right now…the guy whom I interrogated fell in love with me, or so the warden said…and what's worse, I don't have just one guy knocking at my doorstep. I have two…the other one is…Chartrand_

…_and I have no idea what to do._

_They both know that I love you, but neither one of them would stop until I saw yes to one. I don't want to say yes to anyone else...just you._

"Helena! There's an emergency!" Bella's shrill voice called out. Upon hearing a few groans and chokes, Helena knew what was going on. _I told you so._

_

* * *

_

"We need him. He can be a great help in this crisis," a strong, firm voice said. "I trust in his abilities, but isn't it too early?" another said, his voice soft.

"I don't know what they will think…but we do need him. I will have to decide first if this plan can push through. Both of you may now go," another said. He was somehow old and his voice was calm and soft.

"What should I do?" That was all he could think about.

* * *

Thanks for reading. I'll try to update soon, after my exams…which are already near.


	2. Unearthed

My exams are over, so I can get back to my weekly updates. During my brainstorming for this story, I was very enthusiastic about the scenes. Hopefully, I could type the images in my head and turn them into words. I'll try my best to put pieces of the picture together.

Warning for slight language and themes.

Disclaimer: Of course, I still don't own Angels and Demons…but I'd like to own Rome for a day.

* * *

Chapter 2: Unearthed

Long, unpainted nails viciously hit the keyboard, typing two words in French on the translation site. "Is this how it's spelled?" Teresa asked, looking at the two women sitting beside her. "Well, it's French. So I guess, yeah, that's how it's written. Len, check it. I hate that I always forget to tell you what it means. None of us actually remember." Bella said, leaning back on the swivel chair.

"That's right. Hit the translate button. Whoever that guy is and why he seems to hate Patrick like hell and wants to blow up the Vatican, he probably has one reason or another." Helena said, crossing her legs and watching the monitor closely as the data was sent over the Internet.

_Meurtrier Gris ----"Gray murderer"_

Bella and Teresa's eyebrows were raised when they saw the translation. "Gray murderer? Odd." Teresa said, blinking because of the screen glare. They heard a rustle of papers and the fall of a chair. Bella looked at Teresa's left and saw the swivel chair lying on the ground, with three sheets of paper surrounding it.

"Helena, where are you going?!" Bella asked, running after her best friend. "To the Vatican...now that we know what this means, it could be easier to find him. You know that we only have a few months left if ever we want to push through with the infiltration plan." Helena said, not even looking behind as she grabbed her belongings from her desk.

"It's 11:30 PM, Helena! Are you out of your mind?" Bella asked, knowing that such intrusion would offend the officials of the Vatican. "If they don't want to listen, they shouldn't blame me if they blow up." She said, stopping to answer Bella.

Teresa also ran to the scene. She stopped upon seeing Bella. All they saw was a black flash zoom across the white hallways of the police station. Helena had disappeared into the chilly December darkness…a few days to go before the New Year. "Where's she going?" Teresa asked. "To the Vatican…and at this hour," Bella noted, looking at her watch.

"She's just so dedicated to cracking this case…for Patrick, perhaps," was Teresa's remark after a short moment of silence. Bella's eyes widened all of a sudden. "Has Helena answered any of the two guys yet?" "She turned down _**BOTH**_ of them, remember? Can't you remember that she told you that if you liked any of them, she'd introduce you?" Bella was clueless.

"Oh, I forgot. You were a bit drunk when she said that." Teresa said. "Well, I do find that blonde guy cute." Bella said, referring to Lieutenant Chartrand. "You're going to hook up with a Swiss Guard?" Teresa asked, flabbergasted. "What do you expect? I'll marry an ex-con?" Bella asked, hinting at Giordano. "Let's just go home, Bella." Teresa said, shaking her head.

_Never ever make Bella work overtime and talk to her about guys at the same time.

* * *

_

She ran through the buildings, her footsteps quick and light. Upon entrance, she was blocked by a couple of Swiss Guards. "It's awfully late, Inspector Gallego. What is your purpose of coming?" one of them asked. "I have new information…and this may help in the search for Meurtrier Gris." She said with an air of authority. They removed their pikes from the entrance and let her step into the barracks of the Swiss Guards.

She was immediately met by one of the guards, this time, a guard wearing a suit. She was escorted to the office of the Commander, and upon the opening of the door, she found a familiar face beside the new head of the Swiss Guard. Tall, well-built, pale and blonde, she seemed nervous at the sight of the young lieutenant.

"Good evening, Inspector Gallego. Always stunning even after a hard day of work, aren't you? Pleasantries aside, it is already late but I think your arrival would bring important news. Make it quick." The Commander said, his face turning from warm to stern.

"We have found out that the codename Meurtrier Gris means 'gray murderer' in French. As we all know, former Camerlengo McKenna hired an assassin to carry out his ploy. Maybe he's the one…" She started, putting the Commander at the edge of his seat and stunning Chartrand.

"I could see a connection since this man who made the videos seemed to hate Patrick so much. If it is indeed him, though we are under the impression that he died, it's either he's still alive, or someone close to him is plotting revenge in his behalf." Helena said, her expression grave. "If this is the case then, could there be other things that we could offer to help you?" the Commander asked.

Helena put her thumb to her lips, lost in thought. _What could Patrick have used to talk to that guy? Surely Patrick didn't have a cellphone that time. _She tried to visualize the Pope's office and one object on the carved desk caught her attention. _Of course!_

"The phone in the Pope's office…Patrick told me he used that in the plot, though he never told me the name of the mercenary. I could only make this assumption. I hope I had deduced correctly." Helena said. "We can only prove it if the calls from the phone have not been deleted." The Commander said, seeing a loophole.

"Then, we'll have to see. I don't know if His Holiness will allow me to look into the call history…but it's the only way to validate my claim. If he agrees, let me know." She whipped out a card from her trenchcoat.

"Thank you for the information, Inspector Gallego. Lieutenant, please escort her to the porch," the Commander said, gesturing with an open palm moving from Chartrand to the direction of Helena. "Yes, sir," Chartrand said awkwardly.

* * *

Helena and Chartrand walked silently through the corridors of the barracks, not saying a word. Of course, the wound of her "rejection" was still fresh in his heart though he did not love her as deeply as Patrick did. In relation to her normally fiery and straightforward character, the way she turned him down was careful.

_She had turned down Giordano as well. She did not have anything for or against him. It was not time for him to find love. He was in prison. He should wait until his emancipation. Add to the fact that they had quite an age gap. Giordano was 28. Helena had just turned 36 on one of those December days._

_Chartrand was a different story. He was a bit older than Giordano. He was not a convict; he was part of an elite security service that protected one of the most influential states in the whole world. He was well-paid, he could defend her in times of danger, and he was a gentleman._

_But she had a promise to keep…and even without that promise, she had not found in her heart the will to love him. It was a few days after Christmas when she had given a decision to Chartrand. They were walking in the Vatican Gardens._

"_I've always admired you for a lot of things, Helena. You're a determined, brave woman who could probably outdo males in your line of work and I think you've heard so many people tell you that you're beautiful." Chartrand said, his strides slow and long._

"_Thank you…in truth, you've got some admirable qualities yourself." Helena said, without pretense. "You're a loyal, responsible man, chivalrous as a medieval knight. Of course, I could always attribute that to your training as a Swiss Guard, but it seems to come out of you so naturally that it couldn't have been that."_

_The lieutenant just gave a shy smile but became fidgety as he knew the answer would come soon. Helena gave out an invisible sigh as she proceeded to give her answer._ God help me…help him to accept whatever I'll say. Give me the grace to say it all as tactfully as I can.

"_Chartrand, I'm sure you have experienced what it is like to keep a promise." Helena said, but not requiring a reply. "I cannot break it…because it was one that concerned my heart. It was my promise to him that I would not love another even though he would give me freedom to fly away. It's hard, but I have enough will to go on."_

"_I understand." He said, knowing that he had failed to capture her heart. "I'm sorry, if I had hurt you in one way or another. I tell you this, we can always be close acquaintances, friends. I should go now. My presence would just hurt you further. Until we meet again…" Helena said, walking away. He went back to his post, sighing._

He was the one to break the silence. "I heard from the Holy Father that Mr. Stavros, the one who's watching over Patrick, said he's doing quite well. Mr. Stavros also said that he and his friend tried to take him to a bar but he declined." Helena looked at him and said, "Good to hear, I guess. Thanks." She said, still embarrassed that she had to walk with him.

"So, are you mad at me or anything? Just be honest." Helena said, getting to the point. She wanted to know if he was upset with her or anything. "No…I'm fine. Don't worry." _Well, I can't help but be upset, but the promise... It would be pretty selfish of me if I would try to win her._ As they arrived at the porch, a woman was waiting there for them. Her jagged brown hair and warm eyes made her seem girlish.

"There you are, Helena Maria Gallego y Nieves! Thank you, sir, for kicking her out of here…she's quite--" Bella stopped upon seeing Chartrand hazel eyes the size of saucers. He seemed to be charmed to meet her. "Bella, meet Chartrand. Chartrand, this is Bella."

* * *

Giordano Abandonato was allowed two hours to see the light of day, but under the restraint of Officers Gianni Valentin and Sandro Guerriero. He entered the elaborate Apostolic Palace, amazed by the beauty which lay within. As he was granted access to the holiest of offices in the world, he wanted to fall in awe.

Pope Paul VII, the former Cardinal Saverio Mortati, sat on his desk with a worried look, his eyes pointed at the telephone/answering machine of his office. It was found out that he had not yet deleted any calls whatsoever, which proved useful to the situation. Lieutenant Chartrand stood beside Inspector Moretti, exchanging awkward glances.

The new Commander of the Swiss Guard was also there, watching the situation. Helena was sitting in front of the carved desk, handling the phone gently as if it were a sacred relic. She had turned on the speaker phone, making sure that everyone in the room would hear it.

"I'm getting near. Right now, all I'm hearing are your conversations with world leaders and Swiss Guards, Your Holiness. I have no intention of listening any further. The moment I recognize Patrick's voice, that would be the only time I would play the messages in full. You can be assured of all privacy." Helena said, her voice colder than steel.

Giordano sat across Helena, making the phone sit between them. He seemed to be afraid to look at her, seeing her fierce eyes and serious demeanor take over. Her stern expression was changed into a look of surprise when she heard a voice different from the cordial and respectful tones used by foreign dignitaries and the Swiss Guards.

Though this voice was far from the peaceful and well-wishing sounds, Giordano had to admit that the speaker had a good voice quality. _What would it sound like if he sang?_ But he froze to the spot when he heard another tone: one laced with greed, one could already _hear_ the person smirk with pride, as if killing was nothing to him.

"Now, Giordano, does this person sound like Meurtrier Gris?" came Helena's voice, disembodied because of the thoughts which stormed his head.

_Meurtrier Gris: Speak._

_Patrick: It is I, Janus._

_MG: Hello, master._

_P: Your position may be known. Someone is coming to stop you._

_MG: They are too late. I have already made the arrangements here._

_P: Good. Make sure you escape alive. There is work yet to be done._

_MG: Those who stand in my way will die._

"It…it is him…" Giordano said shakily, "It couldn't be anyone else," he added. Upon hearing that, Helena stopped the recording. "Did he like gray stuff or anything?" she asked, still about the name.

"The walls of his office are gray…that's all I know." Giordano said, remembering the cold feeling of entering the man's office. "Thank you…that was all we needed to know." With a nod, Helena made it understood that it was time for Giordano to return to the Regina Coeli Prison.

"So…this man is the same person whom Patrick hired…and maybe he wants revenge because well, I don't know, there must have been a threat to kill him. Assassins are usually dispensed with after service." Lieutenant Chartrand said, quite puzzled. "In most cases, the employer and the mercenary have never seen each other quite in person, but Patrick should be recognizable by anyone, especially now," the Commander said, rubbing his chin.

"I believe I'll have to go now. Commissioner Marino expects me and Bella to be back in around ten minutes. Meanwhile, gentlemen, and Your Holiness, given this information, we leave it to you if you wish to launch any plan. Welcome the New Year joyfully tonight." Helena said, leaving together with Bella after kissing the Holy Father's hand.

With Helena and Bella out, the Commander and the Guard sat down on the chairs in front of the Pope's desk. The Commander stared meaningfully at his subordinate and looked at his superior gravely. "Your Holiness, I am not sure if you will agree to this..." He said in a hushed tone. "Go on, my son…"

"I think…only the employer can understand the workings of the employee…if you would allow it, Your Holiness…"

He could feel his heart beat twice as fast. _What is Commander Laguardia talking about? Are my old ears tricking me? Surely not…Think twice before you say anything, Commander. We do not have much support from the public since Gray's smear campaign. _ He could anticipate the words he was to hear.

"…if he can repair the damage he created…it might be a good reprieve."

* * *

A year passed, a year came. The sky had finished draining all its tears to the land. The sun had taken up its rightful place in the sky, watching all colors bloom in its light. The rocky hills were alive with the light of day; the sea was no longer slate-gray. It was sapphire, with playful streaks of jade adding color to the scene. The date was ominous (the Ides of March), but there was actually nothing to fear.

Little petals were blown by the wind, resting on the white roof of a house which resembled most of the other houses in the town. A man went out of his house and checked his mailbox, just bored to see that most of the envelopes there were bills and such. But then, his eyes were glued to the last envelope, bearing a stately insignia.

Vasilis Stavros, an Orthodox Christian and guardian to Patrick McKenna, was a former employee of the Domus Sanctae Marthae, a kind of inn for the Cardinals attending Conclave. That is the reason why he had contact with the Vatican.

He sat down on his sofa and opened the envelope, expecting some mundane greetings._It's going to say, "How are you and Patrick? We hope he's been behaving himself. Remind him to always pray…" and so on and so forth. They should stop using flowery language. Let's see what they wrote…_ He unfolded the pure white paper and ran his eyes over the words.

It was no ordinary state-of-the-Patrick letter. Its content glued him to his seat. In his shock, he sat still and the letter slipped from his fingers. It fell at his feet. _I don't know if I'm even going to tell him._ Vasilis thought, seeing the ex-priest come near.

A ray of sunshine entered the living room, in the form of a man who looked about ten years younger than his actual age, all smiles, as if that day would be the best day of his life. It was obvious that he had just risen from slumber, reddish hair sprawled all his comely face, blue eyes fluttering in response to the light. His white shirt was creased in several places, pulling towards his back; his loose gray pants were smoother than his top. Patrick McKenna could've had a reason to explain his cheerfulness had he known…

"Good morning, Vasilis," he said, stretching out his arms. There was no response from the other man, who was still in a state of disbelief. Patrick waved a hand in front of Vasilis, who blinked and shook his head.

"Morning, Patrick," the older man said gruffly. "What's this?" Patrick asked, noticing a thrice-folded sheet of paper at Vasilis' feet. "Enjoy reading it. _Lucky bastard_," Vasilis said, grinning widely at his ward. Patrick combed through his hair, making sure that no loose strands would cover his eyes as he read the letter.

Just the first word of the letter was enough to justify his cheerfulness.

* * *

An old, cracking, leather-bound book with discolored pages sat on a table in an ancient-looking room, lined with thin specks of dust. The unkempt room was within an ancient mountain retreat. It was a fortress in the Apennines, kept secret by the foliage. An open window allowed the sea breeze to enter, turning the pages to the part where a pen lay. It was an unfinished entry.

_Had my mind no content, I would have felt the eternal damnation that hell could provide. Quick judgment saved me from you and your devious ploy. You were charm personified, a magnetic character who could not be refused even by those with iron nerves. _

_Was it that silken voice? Was it the irresistible reward of money?_

_I never saw you in person until I turned to man's new best friend: a box of moving pictures. _

_The society was extinct, but with your efforts and my foolishness, it was revived. And for my services, what did you attempt? To eliminate me, of course! What should I grant you?_

_Elimination, as well! It will not be only you but the affiliation you belong._

_No longer shall it be the opposite of all that was created which would annihilate you, but it would be…_

The wind caused the pen to roll down and fall to the table. It made the book close again, its cover sending dust into the air as it slammed shut. One more gust of air and the pen rolled to the ground, falling off the table the way gravity would dictate. Apparently, this was the direction that the writer wanted his enemy to take. _Down_.

* * *

"They even consulted with all the cardinals just to arrive at that decision, Patrick! Consider yourself lucky!" Vasilis said, punching him in the shoulder. "After all I've done, I can't believe that they'd agree to this," he said wistfully, blue eyes reading every word in the paper, making sure it wasn't a dream.

"So you're going home on the 1st, confess and ask for forgiveness, and you're a free man again!" Vasilis said, quite happy for Patrick. "They won't talk to me until I confess. Easy enough but about the free man thing, not really. I will still have to go undercover. I don't know why, but it's better than a lot of people following me as if I'm a celebrity." Patrick said, folding the letter again and placing it in the envelope.

"There must be a reason for them to remove your excommunication status. It wouldn't come free, I'm sure. You might have to do something in return." Vasilis said, holding his ward by the shoulder. "Don't worry. I'm ready for anything they demand of me." Patrick said, as Vasilis let go of him and headed towards the kitchen.

_Helena, I'm coming home…_

Even after roughly six months, he had not forgotten her. He still remembered where the house keys were. He was counting the days. They would pass soon enough. He spent the days working, but more dedicated and focused. The next two weeks would be his last in Avia. He'd better make good of what he had left.

His sketchbook was filled with more art, more passionate poems written after bursts of inspiration which came with the setting of the sun. There was beauty in his work, both in words and pencil strokes.

The people in Avia wanted to be at his departure. He had been the opposite of what they expected. They thought they would come face to face with a murderer who would relentlessly pursue his own caprices. Instead they found a man reformed, angelic in face and voice, priestly in behavior. He was no hero, but to them, he deserved recognition (for others, admiration, and for a few, lust).

As for him, none of these entered his head. He did not come to be famous. He did not allow himself to be sent on exile to just live of his own free will. He came to obey his Church and his superiors; He came to reform himself and live in relative peace.

…………………

"I suppose I know where you're going." Vasilis said, seeing Patrick stuff a few things into a backpack. Patrick smiled sadly, knowing that it was his last day in Avia. "You'd better take in the sights, inhale the sea breeze and draw how you would always remember this place. By the way, have you bought something for your girlfriend? She'd be shocked to see you home." Vasilis said, going over to muss up Patrick's hair.

"Yes, I did. Don't worry about that. I'll be home at around dinner. I want to say this in advance: Thank you for everything, Vasilis. Thank you for accepting me though it might have been hard." Patrick said, smiling, the orange sunset seeping through the windows and casting a warm glow on him. Vasilis nodded. It was the signal that he could go.

He went out the door and headed for the woody path, towards the cliff overlooking the sea. Blue as ever, with the contrasting shades of the sky, the scene seemed to wait for him to draw it. He sat on the green grass, taking out only the most vibrant shades to copy the scene. The wind blew his hair, beautifully untangling Vasilis' mussing of his hair. If there was one thing, or one person that could rival or possibly surpass the beauty of the sunset, it was him.

After strokes of color had been applied to the paper, he wiped his messy fingers on a damp towel and took a pen. He wrote his last exile poem, a celebration of his freedom.

_An eagle set free, its wings spread out_

_Here comes its first time to know the world_

_Upon the beating of wings and a shot through the air_

_There are no more bonds, no more chains_

_Just a life that must be lived  
_

_Here I come, my beloved_

_You have suffered long enough_

_I wish I bring joy with my return_

_I yearned for you during all those years_

_Let this eagle fulfill his promise  
_

_I can prove the world_

_That they have been wise in their choice_

_I will never let them down_

_If I am not worthy, send me out again_

_To serve the sentence that is due_

With a great sigh to release all the cynical ideas which formed in his head, Patrick rose just as the sky was darkening. Walking home, he met up with other co-workers in the café. He had been well-liked there, being a favorite of both the customers and his co-workers. A writer at the newspaper he was working for ran into him, dropping his bag and badgering him on questions about returning to Avia.

"One day."

That was his short but sweet reply. He came to Vasilis' house after going through the town one last time. The moment he turned the doorknob, a crowd of people jumped at him and turned on the light. The whole town had gone to his guardian's house and gave him farewell presents. Patrick couldn't stop thanking them for their hospitality and their acceptance.

Everything was ready: his bags, his sketches and his presents. It would be April Fools' Day the next day. He was hoping that none of the contents of the letter was a joke but he knew that the Church would never fool him. He would just find out soon, at 10 in the morning. He said his prayers, thanking God and asking for His help to face the world that he was to enter again.

"You're going home, Patrick. Good luck," he said to himself, closing his eyes to sleep. Sleep came to him easily, giving him pleasant dreams of the future. As he dreamt and sent his mind to faraway places, Vasilis opened the door and smiled when he saw Patrick sleeping like a log. It was only his breathing that could have set him apart from a corpse.

_You were probably called for greater things. I don't doubt you anymore, Patrick McKenna. You've given me enough proof that you are indeed good, as well as sincere._ Vasilis thought, closing the door.

* * *

April 1, 9:30 A.M.

For one last time, he scanned the area with his eyes. The sea, the cliffs and the sun made their mark on him, saying goodbye.

His hair was flying in the wind, with helicopter blades whirring behind him. A bag was slung on his shoulders. Tall men in black suits took up his other bags. He was looking at the crowd surrounding him. _This is not just a band of people saying goodbye. This is the whole population of Avia's village._ Vasilis was in front of them all, giving a sad smile. Agathe was beside him, pretending to wipe sweat when she was actually wiping a tear.

"Here, Patrick. Always remember the café when you see this." The owner of Brew and Beans said, giving the once-exiled man a bottle-opener which was one of the café souvenirs. "_Efharisto_." Patrick said, taking the object and placing it in his bag. His former employer was taken aback a bit as he spoke Greek. "_Parakalo_." He replied and squeezed Patrick's shoulder before going off.

Vasilis then stepped forward and immediately embraced Patrick. He held the younger man by the shoulders as he said, "You've been good. You're free now but visit us if you can. We'll always remember you. The very moment we saw you, we knew that your presence was one of a kind. To be honest, I was also afraid of you at first. Your reputation preceded you, but you were just so radiant that you destroyed that image. I'm proud of you. We're all proud of you. Now go."

He gave them one last glance as he started walking to the chopper, and waved at them. They did not stop waving even as the chopper soared to the skies. They only stopped when he was far away from them. The chopper was quiet the whole time. Patrick still needed to go to the Holy Father and ask forgiveness before he could talk to any Catholic.

He saw once again the Mediterranean, the rugged peninsular terrain and then the ancient structures dominating Rome. At his descent he was sent into St. Peter's Basilica, the awe-inspiring masterpiece of the Baroque era. Two lines of Swiss Guards made way for him by drawing back their halberds, axe-like weapons mounted on tall poles.

An ornate wooden structure showed before him after the guards had pulled back their halberds. It was made of wood, varnished to perfection, fit for a king to kneel inside and whisper all the contents of his heart. It was the confessional where he would be forgiven. He walked between the guards as a familiar character in white stood in front of the booth, with two cardinals beside him, wearing black. _The Holy Father._

His confessor entered the confessional booth, waiting for him to go through the other door. The two cardinals aligned themselves with the row of Swiss Guards, making way as he bowed down his head, entering a sanctuary. It was dark and cool inside, perfect to dig deeper into his heart. As the screen of the confessional was moved, Patrick let out a soundless sigh.

"_**In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, Amen. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned."

* * *

**_

11:00 AM

He was obviously bored. It was an unusual day for him as a police commissioner. Nobody was calling the station to report crimes and such. _Aie, aie, Simon. Trouble will come up sooner or later, so stop looking like a stupid kid._

Commissioner Simon Francisco Marino of the _Polizia di Stato_ was usually snobbish and laconic, but (unknown to everyone else in the station) once in a while, he enjoyed childish pleasures. Riding his swivel chair on the floor of his office was one of them. Of course, it would look stupid for a middle-aged policeman to go around his office in an unorthodox manner. Just when he thought nobody would see him…

"_Commissario_! There's a--" Officer Sandro Guerriero flung open the door to Marino's office, sweating and panting. He was trying not to laugh as he saw his superior look a bit dizzy rotating on his chair. Commissioner Marino suddenly stopped and straightened his coat and tie. "I'm sorry for that, Officer Guerriero. What is it?" he asked, embarrassed to be seen that way.

"There's a hostage-taking going on at Piazza Navona and the thugs have guns with grenade launchers!" Officer Guerriero said in one breath, turning pale. No sooner had Sandro said it, Commissioner Marino stood up and ran out of his office, barking orders to send the best of his officers. _"Oh shit."_ Sandro thought.

* * *

"Ten men armed with grenade-launching rifles and a few hostages inside a building on Piazza Navona and…someone threatening to kill himself with a bomb in the same building? Is this some kind of publicity stunt?" Bella asked, lacing her boots. Helena loaded up her gun cartridges and stuck them in her belt. "I don't think so," Helena said, checking her vest for problems.

The two officers ran to their mobile with their usual companions. Gallego, Moretti, Guerriero, Fabia and Valentin were all set, blazing off to Piazza Navona. The streets towards the plaza were all crammed with panicking people, swearing, shouting and chattering in Italian. The five got off after finding a good parking spot, loading up their guns.

"Excuse me, where's the hostage-taking going on?" Officer Fabia asked someone who looked a bit more composed than the others. "You see that building at the north-west of the Fountain of Four Rivers?" after the man said it, a gunshot came out of the said building. "Copy that. Thank you, _signore_," she said, contacting her commissioner on a handheld radio.

"Commissioner Marino, the north-west area of the _Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi_ should be barricaded. One of the buildings there is the site of the drama," she said in a strained whisper. "Thank you, Teresa. We'll take it from there. The five of you, search for casualties and help in the evacuation of the area. We'll call you for back-up if necessary." Simon's husky voice was barely comprehensible.

"Bella and I will search for casualties. The three of you, assist in moving civilians out of the piazza." Helena said, "Would that be a favorable arrangement?" "Yep. Good luck and God bless. Teresa, Sandro, let's go." Officer Gianni Valentin said, nodding before they ran off.

"I guess it's you and me again." Bella said, grinning. "As always." Helena said, pointing the laser of her gun to an armed man who was not a police officer.

* * *

He came in an outcast, despised by the very Church he once served. He emerged forgiven, accepted once again. He found himself in the holiest of offices, a place he could call home. He was face-to-face with the highest official of the Catholic Church, together with a few Swiss Guards.

"Now, Patrick, your excommunication is lifted…but we did not lift it just because we thought you have served enough time. You will find out the reason soon. We will call for you once more. Second, you may receive the sacraments once again and you may talk to any Catholic. If anyone doubts you, show them this letter," the Holy Father handed him an envelope.

"Thank you, Father." Patrick said softly. "Third, let this freedom of yours be a freedom to do all that is good and right. You are also free to stay either here at the Vatican or with Miss Gallego." At the mention of Helena's name, his face turned red. "And last, welcome home, Patrick."

"Thank you, Your Holiness." Patrick said, his blue eyes becoming more brilliant than before. The Pope clasped the ex-priest's hand, blessing him. "You may go now to where you wish to stay." "I might swing from here and Piazza Navona, but before that, allow me to go to my father's grave." Patrick said.

After praying at his father's tomb and asking once more for forgiveness, he went through the streets of Rome unrecognized, wearing dark glasses and hair without spikes, combed and parted, giving him the appearance of a young sacristan. He entered a cab, spoke Italian the whole trip and stopped at Helena's house.

He rang the doorbell but nobody seemed to answer, except a few sharp barks that would always bring a smile to Patrick's face. _Oh, Feliz. I missed you! I guess nobody's home…wait…Helena once said that she always kept a spare key here on the porch…_ He looked around on the steps, nothing there until he leaned on the doorpost. He felt something poke his arm.

He fingered the object, which was the same color as the post. _The key!_ He tried to pry it off the post and it came off with a spring. He quietly turned the knob with the key and placed it back on the doorpost. The door opened for him as he pulled in his entire luggage. The warm feeling of home was there again.

When he closed the door, a set of paws banged on the floorboards. Moments later, Patrick was on the floor, laughing. "Feliz! Why, you've grown!" Patrick said, stroking the dog's fur as it licked his face. "Still…as…hyperactive…as…ever…aren't…you?" he asked, as Feliz went off him, wagged his tail and stuck out his tongue.

Patrick brought his bags to the living room and allowed them to settle there. He washed his face, covered in the dog spit. "Helena's at work, right? I'm sure you're hungry…again." Patrick said, giving Feliz a bowl of dog food and taking out a few sandwiches from the fridge for himself.

"I'll have to go and find her, okay. Be good. It wouldn't take long," Patrick said, scratching the Siberian husky's head before taking a bite of the ham sandwich. After a few bites and a few gulps of water, Patrick was off again, this time, bringing only his wallet and glasses.

* * *

"Perimeter clear," Bella said, contacting her other colleagues. "As of 11:30 A.M., we have 4 civilian victims, mostly respiratory problems and bullet wounds." Officer Valentin said. "BACK UP NEEDED. GET YOUR BUTTS HERE. Moretti, you're in for negotiation." Marino barked.

"Roger that." Bella said, waving to Helena, who was accompanying a hostage who escaped by jumping off a window. "I'll follow, Bella. She has a few broken bones." Helena said, whipping out her cellphone and calling for paramedics, knowing that the situation could get worse.

In five minutes, the quintet regrouped and headed off to the scene, barricaded by yellow banners. Seventeen other policemen (including the Commissioner) secured the area, in defensive stance. On the second floor were five men carrying rifles, aiming from a window of their own. On the third floor were five men on a balcony with five hostages, mostly minors.

The guns were cocked at their heads; the triggers could be pulled anytime. The screams for help could curdle even Commissioner Marino's blood. This was no ordinary hostage-taking scenario. The victims were in ripped clothing, smeared with blood; their hair was tangled and messy, giving them a ghostly appearance.

"Put down the guns." Bella said over the megaphone. "I don't want to!" a young brunette said, ready to pull the trigger. "Please, sir, put it down. Why are you guys doing this anyway?" Officer Fabia said, scratching her head. "I won't put this down until you give me €100 000," another young man said, glaring dangerously at Officer Fabia.

Both the police and the five riflemen did not want to be the first shooter. Just one stray bullet and all hell would break loose. But they would not hesitate to start shooting if someone would start. It was like a string stretched to its limits, the tension thick as dialogues went on.

"You can't stop us. If you shoot us, we shoot _them_," a young woman said, smirking at the officers as she pulled a hostage by the hair and toyed with her as if the hostage was a puppet. "You have no right." Helena said, her face expressionless but her voice chilling.

"We have no right? No right to shoot…but maybe a right to do this," an aging man holstered his gun and stripped a hostage naked. Officer Guerriero almost dropped his gun. "They're insane!" Officer Guerriero said to Officer Valentin, whose jaw dropped at such an action.

The negotiations were at a standstill, the atmosphere thick with fear.

* * *

_"Inspector Gallego? She's in a hostage-taking negotiation drama. If I were you, don't follow her. Ten men armed with Glocks and rifles with grenade launchers," a receptionist at the station said, eyeing Patrick suspiciously. "Where?" Patrick implored._

"_Listen, you're a gorgeous young man, and you don't want that pretty face of yours to be shot. Don't waste your time on that. Besides, all civilians have evacuated the perimeter," she said, sighing. "I don't care if I'll be chopped into pieces by a grenade. Just tell me where she is, please." Patrick said, his eyes pleading more than his words could ever say._

"_Alright, but if you get killed, don't say I didn't warn you. She's at Piazza Navona." The receptionist said. She had not said the last syllable yet and the reddish brown-haired, blue-eyed gentleman was out of sight._

Just at the Piazza? Oh…right, she lives in one of the side streets…just go!_ Patrick thought, running to the plaza, avoiding policemen and other people. He snuck through alleyways and climbed a few walls._

He was behind one of the old buildings of the plaza. Near the fountain were yellow lines and officers. He could hear the pleas to stop the violence and give up. He could see the maltreated hostages and the worried officers. But just one sight made him run towards the fountain.

…………………

Helena was loading a cartridge in her pistol, ready to shoot when the kidnappers shoot. Just as she was to load the magazine, it slipped from her hands and slid on the cobblestones. "Damn it," she muttered, walking towards it and picking it up. As she stood up, she thought her brown eyes were playing tricks on her. _This isn't a dream…_ she thought, pinching herself and feeling the pain.

* * *

Two entities stood still, not moving. The tense scene around them ceased to exist. They could not hear any more screaming. No more negotiating police officers. No more noisy kidnappers and wailing hostages. The trickle of the Fountain of Four Rivers could not be heard as well. The ancient buildings faded into oblivion.

The sand stopped dropping from the hourglass.

This was no dream. This was real.

The world around them suddenly dissolved into nothingness.

* * *

Yay! Second chapter up! :D Thanks for reading.


	3. Burning Brighter

I'm taking advantage of the 1-week semestral break to write more chapters. I'm enjoying writing once more, and I hope that you, my readers, are enjoying the few chapters that I could present at the moment.

Warning for a few unpleasant words in this chapter.

* * *

Chapter 3: Burning Brighter

_This was no dream. This was real._

_The world around them suddenly dissolved into nothingness._

"Helena!" a shout echoed through the quiet piazza. Someone was running towards her. He was no ordinary civilian. She lifted her face in shock, once again dropping the gun cartridge. That shout was enough to get everyone's attention, even the kidnappers'.

Helena was in a daze. _No, no, no…this can't be. This is just a very bad joke. My eyes must be deceiving me and Bella must have put drugs in my coffee,_ she thought, knowing that the man standing in front of her should not even be there, whether it was a hostage drama or an ordinary patrol duty. He stopped in front of her, both of them too dazed to move or speak.

Had the setting not been so tense, it would have looked like a cliché romance movie. The star-crossed lovers meet again at a poignant location. But this was no damsel in distress and knight-in-shining-armor situation.

You would see a police officer resplendent in Kevlar, her face not covered by a helmet. In front of her was a man wearing dark jeans, sneakers and a tight, long-sleeved white shirt under a checkered polo shirt left open to show a cross necklace with many shades of blue. One might not believe that he was a former priest, a papal chamberlain at that.

All the officers looked at them, but could not peel their eyes away. The same was true with the kidnappers and the hostages. Of course, it was already a problem when another civilian enters the scene, but this was odd. "Don't tell me we're actually filming an adaptation of _Romeo and Juliet_." Officer Fabia said to Bella, who was also surprised to see the man.

"I stopped by your house…but you weren't home…so I asked the receptionist of the station where you were…" Patrick said, not finishing his sentence.

An awkward silence lasted until Helena's voice started whipping him. "YOU DAMN BASTARD!" she exclaimed in Italian. "They all know I am one. No need to say it anymore." Patrick said, his voice barely audible.

Helena's eyes narrowed. "I'm sure the receptionist told you that you shouldn't come after me. But what did you do? Do you know how dangerous it is to negotiate with half-insane people armed with grenade-launching rifles? But most importantly, WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU DOING HERE?" she shouted. It was quite a _warm_ welcome.

Commissioner Marino gulped loudly and walked to Helena and Patrick. "Inspector Gallego, I believe I have not informed you of an urgent matter. The Vatican had told me not to tell you until _Signore_ McKenna's arrival. Excuse me, _Signore_, I must talk to my subordinate for a while," Patrick nodded, giving his permission. The commissioner pulled the inspector aside and said something.

"Helena, the Vatican lifted his excommunication because they would need him in cracking down on Mr. Gray. Commander Laguardia said that only the master can know his mercenary. So his excommunication comes with a promise to help them." Simon told his raving Inspector.

"Still, he has no reason to be here. He could--" Helena said. "No. Go talk to him. You are only acting like this because you see something endangering him. I know you are not angry about the lifting per se." Commissioner Marino said. He could be mean, but at least, he was sincere, never pretentious.

"I can't talk to him; I still have to make sure nothing goes awry with the negotiations. Can't I drive him away?" Helena asked, almost desperate to push Patrick back to Greece to complete the tenure of his excommunication. "No. You can't push him away. Try as you might, you won't. I can bet my annual salary on that. I _know_ how you feel for him. Now go." Commissioner Marino said, driving her back to Patrick.

For the first time, Helena was at a loss for words. She walked to him, seeing him stand still near the fountain. "I missed you…" Patrick said, trying to hold her. She turned her head away, a sign that she was not in the mood for anything. "Just go away…you shouldn't be here. You could get shot by an M-16 rifle or torn into pieces." Helena said, standing up to pick her magazine cartridge and loading it into her gun.

Meanwhile, the negotiations and the abuses continued. "If that gunshot means seeing you again, I'd enjoy the minutes I had left," Patrick said, smiling as he followed her. "You don't know what you're saying. Get out of here before trouble brews." Helena said.

She was walking around, quite confused, finding herself at the north-east of the fountain, nearer to an old building with three floors. He decided to look around the buildings, missing the place.

A human responds quickly to a threat he sees, especially if the target of that threat is a person close to him or he himself. "Hey, why are you looking at?" Helena tried to snap Patrick out, upon seeing that his eyes were glued to the old building.

Patrick shook his head and darted towards Helena, pulling her aside, speaking in a strained whisper. "I saw someone on the second floor and he was holding a rifle. I don't know whom he was targeting. Maybe this whole kidnapping thing was just a cover. Those kidnappers are always darting themselves back and forth, as if someone was directing them. Could you see that?"

Helena looked and she did notice that they seemed to be waiting for an order. "How did you find that out? Is this a part of the excommunication program?" she asked, her tone not qualifying for a joke. He laughed softly. "No, it isn't. I just picked up signs. How could I have come up with my own grand scheme if I didn't know these things?" Patrick asked her.

Instead of answering, she walked out into the open, sure of her abilities and what she was supposed to do. And then it hit Patrick as he saw the shadow of the rifle point to one person: Helena. "Why are you still there?" she mouthed to him. He put a finger to his lips and ran, mouthing to her,

"_**No time for questions, just duck. DUCK!"**_

"Sir, what's the problem?" Officer Guerriero asked Patrick, who seemed to be dashing after someone. It was unusual for a civilian to handle matters like these, especially one who had never trained with the police force. "Not right now. Just throw me your gun. Helena's life depends on it." Patrick said, more convincing than Commissioner Marino.

Fearing for his colleague, Sandro threw his pistol to Patrick, who grabbed it in mid-air. In a split-second, he was on the ground, lying on his side, aiming at a shadow on an open window on the second floor of an old building.

Nobody would think that lying down on the ground, dirty and dusty because of the crowds that tread on it, was such a good thing. Of course, that changed when Patrick was on it, gun in hand and blue eyes fixed on the target. _I won't kill him. Just disarm him well enough so that he couldn't shoot her._ He thought.

The kidnappers were not able to see what Patrick was doing because he was hidden by the base of the Fountain. Had they known, they would not have hesitated to rip him to shreds.

In just a blink of an eye, wasting no time, a bullet shot through the air.

* * *

"Oh, yes, dear. Come closer so that I could take you down…your commissioner's next…then that pretty blonde…Yes, my beautiful officer, fall, it would be easier for me to shoot your head." A dark-haired, olive-skinned man in dark clothes said from the shadows of the ancient building in Piazza Navona. He was at the window, the crosshair showing the Inspector in the center. His finger was itching to pull the trigger.

_Beautiful as you are, I want the whole force dead. You'd be defenseless when he plans his revenge._ He thought, ready to shoot. Just when he was so close to shooting Helena, he heard a loud boom. Then, he felt something searing his flesh.

A bullet shot straight to his left shoulder, embedding itself into his shoulder blade. It was as if metal was shredding his insides, tearing his skin apart. Add the heat from its speed and he had to bite his shirt to suppress any sound.

_Who did this? Who could have known that I was here?_

He retreated into the shadows, his plans destroyed by that single bullet.

* * *

Upon hearing the gunshot, the kidnappers were stunned. Apparently, someone had discovered their real reason for taking hostages. "Oh damn. What do we do know? Someone shot the boss!" one said to his comrade. "I don't know…shoot the police while they're checking out that gunshot?"

The very moment the man said that, the door leading to the room with the balcony opened, revealing their five riflemen companions, all held by policemen. "Let go of your hostages. You're all under arrest," Officer Valentin said, his stare soul-chilling.

Near the fountain, Commissioner Marino ran to Patrick, who was already shaking the dust off his clothes. He held the ex-priest by the shoulders, shaking him. "WHAT ON EARTH WERE YOU DOING?" He barked.

"I saw someone on the second floor pointing his rifle at Helena. The reason I only disarmed him was because you could still get information from him." Patrick said confidently. Commissioner Marino let go of him, asking some men of his to accompany him to the second floor of the building and see what the man was up to.

"Thanks." Patrick said, handing back the firearm to Officer Guerriero. "How did you…" Sandro asked in surprise. "I was in the army for two years back then. Though I abhorred weapons back then, I could still see them fire guns. But I don't know…it could have been just a surge of adrenaline," Patrick said, walking away to say something that garnered shock from the policemen.

"Officers, I believe this hostage drama was just a ploy. I saw a man on the second floor with a rifle, pointing the barrel at Helena. The hostage-taking could have just been a cover for a single murder or a mass murdering of this unit." He said.

Helena stormed to him, demanding an explanation. "Patrick, how the hell could you be sure of his intention? For all I know, he could have been on our side!" she told him angrily. "I'm sorry, Helena. All I was thinking about was your safety and this was the first thought that entered my head! If I'm wrong, then sue me for physical injury." Patrick said, dismal.

Helena slapped her forehead. "They should have never sent you home. If they just knew that you'd cause trouble," she said, much to Patrick's disappointment. She sat at the fountain's base. Bella came to her. "Helena, you may want to listen to what one of the kidnappers wants to say. Patrick, you may want to come and listen as well." Helena stood up and listened. Patrick followed.

A bunch of police officers were around the hostages. "So, what was the plan again?" Officer Valentin asked a teenager who was taken hostage. She seemed to cling so much to Officer Valentin. She said, "All that the guy said was true…they were only doing this to distract you. He was planning to take out this unit. In fact…one of them called the station up…"

"That's why the description of the guns was so clear…no panicking person would have noticed what kind of gun was used…unless he or she had trained in the army." Sandro said, knitting his eyebrows. "Into the mobiles, all of you…more questions later at the station." Officer Teresa Fabia said, helping the officers usher both the hostages and the faux-kidnappers to the cars.

Moments later, Commissioner Marino and a few of his men had the sniper cuffed. He also confessed to his plot. "Do you want to meet the man who prevented you from shooting that bullet?" Commissioner Marino asked sarcastically. "Oh, yes, please…so that he'll be the one I'll shoot later on," the dark-haired, olive-skinned man said, as Marino scoffed, looking for Patrick.

A few officers were left since they would take the culprits and their victims downtown. The ones left were the commissioner, Officer Guerriero, Inspectors Moretti and Gallego, other officers, the boss of the crime group, and of course, Patrick.

"Hey, gunslinger boy, I'd like you to meet someone…Yes, you!" Commissioner Marino said as Patrick modestly pointed to himself.

Since they had the same height (5'10 ½"), the head of the fugitives and Patrick met eye-to-eye. He smirked devilishly when he saw the ex-priest. "_Il del nome Rolando Leoni. La so… un bastardo del Vaticano__[1]__,_" he said in Italian, trying to know if the Irish ex-priest knew how to answer him back.

"Well, he called you 'a bastard' but I think you're _the_ bastard." Commissioner Marino said, trying to provoke the composed Patrick. _People have been on a roll calling me bastard today. It should stop._ "I don't want to pick fights with anyone, _signore_." Patrick told Commissioner Marino.

"_Poiché lei sembra sapermi, non ci è bisogno per le introduzioni_ (Since you seem to know me, there is no need for introductions on my part)." Patrick answered, his Italian tinged with Irish inflection but understandable, nonetheless. _So, he could answer me back…oh well._ Rolando thought.

"Let's make it straight to the point. Now that I know you're the one who gave me this deathwish of a bullet, I'll shoot you in the future, and probably some of these other people…especially her," he pointed to Helena. "Don't even dare. Do so and I'll shoot you in that same spot." Patrick said, fiercely turning his blue eyes to Rolando.

Bella nudged Helena. "You got yourself a gorgeous knight in shining armor," she said, before leaving with the others. "Cut it." Helena said. "Mister McKenna, I want to apologize for my prejudice against you. I didn't know that you would be vital in this operation. I hope there was no offense." Commissioner Marino said.

"None taken, commissioner. Thank you as well." Patrick said, extending his hand. To Helena's surprise, the commissioner shook Patrick's hand. _He NEVER does that._ Helena thought. _Patrick, don't tell me you're charming men as well…_ "Now please come with Inspector Gallego and me to the station. I want to discuss a few matters regarding your return."

Patrick and Helena were side by side in the backseat, looking quite awkward as Marino smiled to himself, riding shotgun. _A fine couple…

* * *

_

At seven o clock, two people went out of the police station with dazed faces. Both could not get over what Commissioner Marino told them in the station.

_"Gallego, remember your plan on infiltrating the guy? We found him with the help of the Swiss Guard. He's hiding in the Ligurian Apennines, somewhere near Genoa. One of the senior Polizia di Stato will be sent tomorrow night as your…recruitment agent. He would recommend those to infiltrate the mountain retreat." Commissioner Marino said, pointing to the map on his table._

"_Alright…so…how about the infiltration plan? Did the Vatican approve of it?" Helena asked, wary. "Yes. You did express that you wanted to go there as a maid. Giordano did say that Mr. Gray needs a maid, someone with the skills of a librarian and a driver." Commissioner Marino said, a wicked glint in his eye._

"_The Vatican chose your two companions and I will explain the rationale behind their choices, so do not be shocked." Commissioner Marino said, staring at Patrick discreetly. "Alright…who's the driver?" she asked. "Lieutenant Chartrand has agreed to be the driver. He's one of their best Swiss Guards as of now."_

"_And the bookkeeper?" Helena implored._

"_Only the master knows the mercenary…and a while ago, I saw someone who could deconstruct a criminal's plan. Upon reviewing his file as I came back in, I'm happy to say that they're one and the same person. Aren't you wondering why his exile was lifted?" Commissioner Marino asked, smiling as he saw two pairs of wide-open eyes. One pair was brown, the other was blue._

"_But…Commissioner…" Patrick said. "Yes, Patrick. Come to think of it, it's a good reprieve. You're going against your mercenary to save the Church." He turned to Helena, who was equally stunned. "No way! It's April Fools' Day…for all I know, you're joking!" she exclaimed, standing up._

"_Don't give me that look, Gallego. I know how you feel." Helena sat down, trying to hide her flushing face._

"_Now…the three of you will be briefed at the Vatican on the 8__th__, that's a Thursday, a week from now. You will proceed with the mission on the 9__th__. Both of you may leave." Commissioner Marino said. Both stood up and saluted stiffly before leaving._

"So…you found the spare key in the doorpost?" Helena asked, talking to Patrick nicely for the first time that day. "Yeah," he answered, still at a loss for words. They entered her black Fiat and drove home. "Good," Helena said, her scowl perpetual during the ride home.

* * *

Upon entering, Feliz welcomed them, and he immediately jumped on Patrick, though he had done that a few hours ago. Feliz was still the frisky, lovable and energetic Siberian husky that Patrick knew. "Ow!" Patrick exclaimed, as he dog licked his face. Helena couldn't help but smile. _Feliz never forgot you, Patrick._

She went upstairs to her room and reflected. _How come things just come so fast?_ She then remembered their meeting at the Fountain of Four Rivers. She tongue-lashed him but he didn't seem to care. _Was he just that crazy…or he was just trying NOT to lash out at me as well? Maybe he's angry at me…well…for good reason. I was such a…never mind. _

_Maybe I was just so shocked to see him…maybe I just wanted him to stay out of the crime scene…no…I wasn't reacting right. I almost couldn't believe it was him…that's why I was so defensive. I was thinking he escaped…but…he didn't._

_Now that I understand everything…damn, what have I done?_

In annoyance and regret, Helena threw herself to the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Patrick sat in his room, happy to be home again. He put his clothes in the dark wood armoire. The room had not changed. The walls were still painted white with black curlicues from the corners. The door to the balcony was painted the same way as the bricks outside so that it would be invisible to burglars. A Bible was still on top of the shoulder-level bookshelf, still opened to the story of the Resurrection.

The desk and chair were still there, as well as the oval mirror. The bed was still backed to the wall, at the center of the room. The same lampshade and side table stood near it. The light of the moon entered through the huge window panes, adding to the feeble light of the lampshade.

He was done arranging everything, except for one thing that he had not yet taken out. He was still wearing the cross necklace that Helena gave him when he left for Avia. As he removed it to rest his neck, he remembered that he had bought something for her. He immediately dug into his bag and produced a necklace which looked exactly like the one he was wearing; only, it was in various shades of red.

_I did intervene…quite rude of me. I let my heart get the better of me. I don't know how I got to my far-flung conclusion of the sniper planning to kill the unit…but it happened. I just needed her…never mind everyone else._

_If this is love…it's a destructive poison, my downfall, the forbidden fruit. If this is how it would be, I'd happily surrender to this agent of my defeat._

He was about to go to Helena's room to knock at her door when he saw his door open, with a dark figure leaning on the doorpost. She was looking sideways, with one leg straight, the other bent, so that her foot was against the frame. Her arms were crossed and her raven locks covered her face.

"Patrick, I'm sorry for being such a jerk this morning. I was shocked…I couldn't believe it was you. In spite of all that and everything I said, I want you to know that I really missed you. You're here now, safe, as noble as ever," she said, looking at him, and then averting his gaze after speaking.

"If there's someone who should be apologizing, it should be me," Patrick replied, walking near her, the necklace in his hands, "I meddled…and…we're going to be sent together on some mission." He said. "Well, you saved my life. It's worth the meddling…and you shook hands with Marino. He never shook hands with anyone. Am I welcome here?" Helena said, a smile forming on her face as he came closer.

"It's not my room, technically. Come of your own free will," Patrick said, giving way so that she could sit down on his bed. He sat beside her. "Close your eyes, I got you something." Helena closed her eyes and Patrick put the necklace on her. "Well…I don't know if it was stupid of me to get you one. I just hope you like it. Open your eyes."

_The sound of his voice…great when your eyes are closed…better when you can see the one saying those words._ She opened her eyes and looked at the object dangling from her neck. "How did you know that red was my favorite color?" "I just followed a hunch and bought it."

"Thank you, Patrick. Are you still mad at me?" Helena asked. Without warning, Patrick made her slide closer to him, holding her by the waist. His lips gently touched her temple. _No…why should I be mad at you? If I am, I wouldn't be soon enough._ Laying her head on his shoulder, she tried to shake off a few thoughts which shouldn't be in her head. Instead of going deeper into her head, she said,

"So…how was Greece?"

"It was alright I guess. I drew a lot…wrote a lot…had a former Vatican City employee as my babysitter. I got a job at a café, and then someone invited me as an illustrator for a paper…and she was an old friend of my guardian. Vasilis, my guardian, and Agathe, my boss, tried to get me to a bar," Patrick said, smiling especially at the last memory.

"I'm sure that you didn't come," she said, knowing Patrick's protectionism when it came to his chastity. He then asked, "How about you? What whirlwind did you enter here in Rome?" "Tracking down your former hitman, I guess. I also had a few problems concerning love."

"So, you've found someone else? It's alright if you did." Patrick said, but both of them knew that it wouldn't be. "Two people were trying to win me over though they didn't know that there was another. All they knew was that I loved another…but not one of them," Helena said, her head off his shoulder.

"And who are they?" Patrick asked, more curious than jealous. _Envy is a sin, Patrick._ "The first one's someone I interrogated. I don't know why he fell for me. It was creepy. His name's Giordano Abandonato. Besides the promise I took, I didn't accept him since he was eight years younger than me…and he was psychologically unstable." She said.

"A lot of people call me crazy. Why didn't you refuse me?" Patrick asked, with a theatrical pout. "To me, you are not. I don't care if they say that. All that matters is what I think," Helena said, firm even in the matters of the heart. "Alright. Who's the other one?"

"Don't kill him…but he's from the Vatican. Three guesses who," Helena said, quite nervous. _If he knew...no cause for alarm, anyway…he seems to be interested in Bella. Hehe. Time for me to tease her soon…_

"Chartrand," Patrick said, without batting an eyelash, "He's the only one who still has the capacity to think about love. When battle hardens you, you do not see a beautiful world anymore. Yes, suffering is part of reality, but the reality you exist isn't really rainbows and butterflies. But it's certainly not always guns and V3 rockets too."

"But don't worry about him. He seems to take an interest in Bella," Helena said. "Hmmm…they do make a good couple." Patrick said, picturing Inspector Moretti beside Lieutenant Chartrand. "I guess if we're going to present ourselves to Mr. Gray, we'll have to fake our identities." Helena said, putting a stop to the stories of the 'love whirlwind'.

"Use pseudonyms…think of some other nationality…say that I never graduated college because I had nothing to pay…" Patrick said, getting a hang of the idea. "I don't know if the Philippine National Police Academy is recognized…but I know the University of the Philippines is…and he might find me in the records if he dares to hack." Helena said, wondering.

"I thought you only studied criminology…" he said, bewildered. "I took up psychology as well, with a few units of behavior analysis. That's why I mostly function in the force as an interrogator…" Helena said, quite sheepish.

"No wonder it was easy for me to trust you." Patrick said, "When I was taking up theological studies, I also had a few units of Literature. The other seminarians scoffed at me for that." Helena just had to smile. "No wonder you could devise something out of Galileo's _Diagramma_ and no wonder you wanted to work in a bookshop. By the way, the books from Mr Franco are still in your shelf."

"Oh well…no wonder they made me bookkeeper for this mission. I'll just present my report cards for my Literature units…my Theological Studies diploma is kept on permanent record in the Vatican. I can't get it back, especially not when we're rushing." Patrick said, getting in character for the mission.

"I'll just tell him my whole life story. Teresa said it was more soap operatic then realistic. I'll just change the first names of my family members…we'll need a few changes in name and appearance." Helena said. "I'm taking the name 'Victoria'; naturally, the nickname would be 'Vicky'."

"You're taking your name from a cartoon?" Patrick asked, trying not to laugh. "You watched cartoons at the Vatican?!" Helena asked incredulously. "Well, while I was preparing for Conclave, I would flip through the channels watching the news…and I would stumble on Fairly Odd Parents every now and then." He said, quite innocent.

"Whoever put the cable on the TV in the Pope's office must be crazy. Now pick your own pseudonym." Helena said, failing miserably in suppressing her giggles. "I'd like to take my former alias [Carlo Ventresca]…but maybe other people would know. I couldn't mask my accent, but I could say that I came from some country and grew up in Italy." Patrick said, stroking his chin.

"You could pass off for a Scot. Want to take the name 'Cosmo'?" Helena joked. "No thanks," Patrick said, smiling, "Give me a name…" he looked back and saw the windows, flung wide open. Dominating the Roman skyline was the enormous dome of St. Peter's. "Christian…" his eyes had that glint in them.

"Okay…the surname, please, so that I could prepare dinner. It's almost 9," she said, feeling the hunger come up after a rough day. "I'll think about that later. Let's eat," he said, reaching a hand to her, as if inviting her to go down.

Descending the stairs, Helena glanced at the digital clock she kept on the wall, which kept track of the hours, minutes, seconds, the date and the room temperature. Upon seeing the date, a thought formed in her head. "It's Friday tomorrow. Do you want to go somewhere?" she asked Patrick. "What's the occasion?" he asked.

"You forgot your own birthday?" she asked in disbelief. "Oh…right. I was so busy today that I forgot about that. Thanks for reminding me." He smiled sheepishly. "We'll go out tomorrow night. Don't worry; I won't bring you somewhere ludicrous." Helena reassured him.

"Maybe on one of your birthdays, I'll drive you to a nice place…in a helicopter."

Just hearing Patrick say that almost made her fall from the steps.

* * *

[1] "The name's Rolando Leoni. I know you…a bastard of the Vatican."

There you go. Okay, I put some "Fairly OddParents" references in there. Forgive me. Patrick could commit a crime but stopping a crime is hotter. Watch out for the next chapters. Bye!


	4. Precursor

A lot of drama in the third chapter, eh? Let's break that up a little and have a feel-good time. It's not yet Valentine's Day, but feel the love in the air…I mean the page. Watch the law enforcer and the lawbreaker on their first date. Gaah…I'm sorry for the late update. I went through a month of activity.

I am warning you _**explicitly**_ _**NOT**_ to read this chapter when you are hungry or when you just finished eating.

Disclaimer: Oh, the usual…

* * *

Chapter 4: Precursor

_"I'll be home at around 6:30. Though it is your day, you'll have to take care of Feliz and do a few chores but don't strain yourself. I want you to still look as charming as you are. I'll make everything up to you tonight," she said, brushing a few unruly locks away from her face. _

"_I will. Don't worry. Are you sure you want to take me out tonight? I could always celebrate my birthday without anything," he said, quite ashamed._

"_Well, this is a special birthday for you. In spite of all you've been through, you're still alive. Happy birthday, Patrick." She started walking down the hallway. Her fingertips had just come in contact with the doorknob when…_

"_Don't I get a birthday kiss?" he asked, lips pouting like a violet. "I'll have to slap you first. It's a…"_

"…_I know, family tradition." Patrick said in mock defeat. "Have a good day, Helena…" he said, smirking. _Really, I have no idea how this guy makes me weak. _Helena thought, sighing. She turned around and walked to him, draping her arm around his shoulders and pulling him close, catching him off-guard._

_The last thing she saw before closing her eyes as she savored the softness of his lips were his wide-open eyes, blue like the endless sea._

_Pulling away from each other was hard, like pulling away a metal rod from a magnet. "Thank you." Patrick said, as Helena planted a short one on his cheek. "Take care of yourself." She said before closing the door._

The clock struck 5:30. It was the first time that Patrick McKenna ever had trouble grooming himself. Trying out one combination of apparel after another and looking at himself in Helena's full-length mirror, he was fretting. Feliz was looking on as he did so.

_I never had to worry about how I looked like when I was back there. I had only two kinds of clothing: a cassock and sleepwear. Back in Avia, I wasn't dating anyone, so I could go out looking like someone who just came out of bed. _

_But now…it's different! This isn't just a stroll around Rome…it's my birthday…and it's a date with Helena._ Patrick thought, straightening out the collar of the shirt he was wearing.

"Feliz, do you approve of this?" he was wearing a well-fitting white graphic shirt which seemed to be blotted with black ink with random bursts of blue and green and jeans. Feliz shook his head. Patrick looked again at the mirror. "Right…too casual," he said, scratching his head.

He had messed up his whole closet, playing around with polo shirts, ripped jeans and jackets. Every disapproving stare from Feliz and from the mirror would prompt him to think it over. In the end, Patrick seemed desperate. He started putting back everything in the closet.

It seemed to be by chance, but the last items lying on his bed were a long, thin, black, zip-down cardigan, a white polo shirt and a pair of dark rinse jeans. _Why not try it?_ With apprehension, he wore them. He put on a pair of socks and a casual pair of black sneakers to complete his attire.

He had fixed his hair again, knowing that his continuous changing of clothes would mess his thick locks. With his hair carefully styled, as well as flashing his million-dollar smile, he looked at the mirror.

This time, Feliz seemed to approve by wagging his tail and barking loudly. Patrick had to smile. Without being too proud, he could say that he had cleaned up well. So as just to test if he had done right, he opened the balcony door and stood on the balcony. The sun was just setting.

A few women were on their way to a girls' night out that Friday, when they saw a man they perceived to be young standing on the balcony, looking into the distance and poising himself on the balcony like a troubled lover. Even though he seemed to be an image of desperation, there was a light in his eyes.

They were murmuring among themselves in Italian, frozen in their tracks, wondering. "Who among parents are so blessed to have a son like him?" asked one. "Even on their own, his eyes could stop traffic." The other remarked. "His clothes are great, but he'd look just as good in a garbage bag," a third said.

Hearing the murmurs, Patrick looked at them, as if thanking them for the compliments they whispered with delight. As soon as the women passed, Patrick went inside and closed the balcony door. He and Feliz went out of Helena's room, took some things from his room and went down to the living room. Patrick made sure the house was spotless.

He sat on the upholstered divan, grabbing a book that he was yet to finish. He read the last pages of _A Separate Peace_, and when he had closed the book, the door opened. In the doorway of the living room was a shadow that stood still, as if she had not expected to see something.

The look on Helena's face was priceless. She had dropped her bag on the floor accidentally and her brown eyes were staring long and hard at Patrick. He stood in front of her, his cheeks glowing. "Is there something wrong?" he asked. "Whoa," she said, looking at him from head to toe.

He gave a modest smile. "It's my birthday, anyway…why shouldn't I look my best, I guess," he said. "Believe me, if I stare at you any longer, I'm going to faint. Now please, let me dress up first," Helena said, running to her room. _He's going to turn heads with THAT look._

Helena did not have to try on multiple outfits. She had already prepared. She had a knee-length strapless dress which had black and white stripes of medium thickness. She also had a white shirt with collars and a deep neckline. That one was a gift from Bella last Christmas.

_I was wondering why Bella would give me a blouse with an abysmal neckline. At least, I found a purpose for it._ Taking out a pretty and comfortable pair of black flats, she did not put on much make-up. She let her black curls fall gracefully on her shoulders. That way, she looked natural but never washed-out or drab. Grabbing personal items, cash and a clutch, she went down to meet him.

She was at the top of the stairs while he was at the foot. Patrick couldn't help but stare. Of course, we all know that everything has an equal, a complement, an opposite. If you have matter, then you also have antimatter. If you have a man who has these smoldering looks, then you'll have a woman who could burn the house down to the ground by just standing there.

Both were simple and classy in their style of dressing. It made their faces do the talking. "What? Is the dress too short?" Helena asked, quite shyly. "No, no…it's perfect," he said as she descended the stairs. Feliz was watching, probably snickering as he lapped at the water in his bowl.

"Shall we go?" Patrick asked, extending his hand to Helena as they went out. Giving Feliz a wink, Patrick opened the door for Helena as she blushed, realizing that her dog was watching them. Closing the door, they went out into the well-lit streets, going through the side streets of Piazza Navona.

"So, where exactly are you taking me?" Patrick asked. "It won't be a surprise anymore if I told you. Let's just say, I'm taking you out to eat and to sightsee," Helena answered. "Fair enough…don't worry. I'm not choosy. Thank you in advance," he said, his warm lips on her cheek.

* * *

They went to a street where bars were just literally steps away from each other. These were some of the classiest places in Rome, with open-air terraces which were favorite destinations of those who were from the upper classes. Via Della Pace smelled of wine, food, and maybe cigarette smoke. Adding to the sensory overload were the gregarious talking and laughing, as well as the ancient buildings clad with creeping plants.

An ivy-clad bar dating from 1891, it housed artwork in its walls, the ambiance fitting for such a romantic corner of Piazza Navona. Women were dressed to the nines, as well as the men. Some of them could not hold their 15th shot of tequila, while the others were sobering up with coffee.

"Trust me, Patrick. Things are wild here on Saturdays. You're lucky I didn't think of bringing you here tomorrow," Helena said. "That's _Caffe della Pace_, the place-to-be since 1891." "Are you serious? It seems so relaxed here," he said.

"That's because the people are here come from the more mature crowd. Not too many customers, today. Just the way you would have probably wanted it. We'll have coffee here after dinner." she said, as they entered another restaurant. Patrick did take a bit of a peek inside.

The bar retained its antique charm, with stools made of varnished wood, as well as the shelves which held the ingredients for the next cocktail. The café itself was divided into two rooms. Patrick saw that both rooms were full, brimming with noise and gossip.

They entered a _ristorante_ (still upscale, but easier on the wallet than the _Caffe della Pace_) which offered cuisine from all regions of Italy, but specializing in the cuisine of Rome's district, Lazio, and the Sicilian region.

"Table for two, _signore_?" A waiter asked, polite even in his state of hurrying. "_Si._" Patrick said as they were directed to a table separated from the others. Just like the other tables, it was small and round, with wrought iron and rattan chairs. They were under the stars, with the cobblestones beneath their feet.

"This was supposed to be reserved but the guy cancelled it at the last minute," the waiter said, smiling. "Just our luck, I guess." Helena said as Patrick pulled the chair for her. He sat across her as soon as she was comfortable. Just as the waiter went to get the menu, Helena took out her digital camera. Patrick looked down with a shy smile as she put her camera on black and white mode.

Helena stood up and found a good angle to shoot him from. He was looking at the great beyond, but with a smile that seemed to be a remnant of a laugh. He had just seen a man piss in his pants because of his drunken state. _God must have been thinking of Patrick when he defined perfection._ Helena thought, capturing the moment as the soft lights made his eyes glimmer.

She changed the configuration of her camera, putting it back to normal colors. He was now looking at her, sitting cross-legged on the chair, leaning on the thin armrest at his left. "You're not camera-shy, are you?" she asked, as he gave a ready smile. Any photographer would have wanted to take a hundred shots of him.

She sat down again and showed him his pictures. Just then, the waiter came with their menu. Patrick was smiling as he looked at his photos. The waiter was a bit curious so he stole a few glances on the camera screen as Helena read the menu. Patrick put down the camera, turning it off and handing it to Helena. She handed the menu to him.

"Hmmm…_Bucatini all'__amatriciana_and _Saltimbocca_. I would also like to have some aged _Tazzelenghe_." Helena said, as Patrick's mouth seemed to water upon hearing what she was ordering. Raising his eyes as the waiter turned to him, he said, "_Tonno alla palermitana…_I know that the pasta would be enough for both of us…and I'll have water to go with that. I'm not supposed to drink." Patrick said, smirking.

After reviewing the order, the waiter went off to post the paper on the cook's window.

Patrick took the camera and set it to color accent mode. _Who said that ex-clergymen can't use digital cameras?_ He pointed the camera to a red object. That would be the only color that would appear in the photo. The rest of the picture would be black and white.

"Smile for me, won't you?" he told her, as she looked sideways to avert his gaze. Before she could even tell him not to click, he had already taken a photo of her. It was black and white, except for her blushing cheeks and full lips, which were tinged with red.

"Gorgeous as always…hmmm…smells like the _Saltimbocca_," he said, as a buttery odor drifted in the air. In her vanity, Helena took the camera from his hands and took a self-portrait of them using the timer. That's how they spent the time, well, just before letting go of the camera and looking into each others' eyes with the candlelight casting a soft glow on their cheeks.

_My mother told me that she saw my biological father's grandmother…she had blue eyes…but they were of a dull shade, unlike his. I think we're being rude by staring at each other…I think quite a few people are watching. _Helena thought, her right eye straying a bit to look at the people who seemed to either recognize Patrick or were disgusted by the apparent display of affection.

By momentarily taking her eyes off him, Helena led Patrick to looking at the others as well. He looked at the others with a grin that said, _"I'm sorry. I didn't know that you guys were looking. I'm being rude am I?"_ Helena gently whacked him on the shoulder with the back of her hand.

She leaned closer and whispered into his ear, "Stop seducing everyone! Haven't I told you so many times? I know you don't mean it but do you have really have_** no**_ idea why those women are being nudged by their straight husbands and boyfriends who are also looking at you? Add the fact that they're not looking with green eyes."

"No, I don't. Forgive me for being too modest, if that's what you'll say, but as a former priest, I have never seen anyone seduced by a look that I throw them," he whispered back, his warm breath making her ears shiver. "That was because you were still a priest, but even then, I'm sure they'd be drooling over you after the Mass." Helena said, "Now that you are VERY WELL-INFORMED of this, please, spare them the pain of them turning into _gelato_ in July."

"Alright…but how about you? I'm sure you wouldn't like to feel the same pain." Patrick said, making her shut up for a moment. "Maybe it's because if you love somebody, you're willing to faint on the cobblestones just to see that person smile, happy to be with you, happy to love you," she replied.

"Clever answer…no wonder…" he said. "_Mi scusi, signore e signora_, _la cena è servitor_," their waiter said, pushing a trolley from which a mouth-watering scent emanated. Looking each other in the eye, one could tell this would be no ordinary dinner.

* * *

"Good stuff for less. There are many restaurants here in Rome, but believe me, I brought you to one of the best…both in terms of taste and price," Helena told him, as they strolled a few steps, going to the _Caffe della Pace_ for coffee and desserts.

"I'm sure you know all about that. Thank you so much. So…how many years have you been here in Rome, anyway?" he asked, his arm braced around hers. "I was sent here when I was 26…ten years then," she answered.

Tendrils of ivy crept on the walls of the hundred-year old café, adding to its antique charm. Many people were inside, enjoying their seventh margarita or just eating their tiramisu. Patrick and Helena decided to stay at the terrace again, watching people pass by, feeling the cool wind blow through the trees.

A waitress came up to them. "Good evening, _signore e signora_. What will you be having tonight?" she said, taking note that Patrick was not Italian. "Ladies first," Patrick said, smiling at Helena. "No, I'll just share with you," she said, having a hunch that he'd order something more than he could chew. "And what will you be having?" she asked Patrick, who looked at the menu thoughtfully.

"Helena, if it's alright with you, I'll have a large glass of pistachio ice cream," he said, looking like an excited little kid in the process. "Commit all the gluttony you want today. You can always go to confession on Sunday," Helena said, as he seemed excited to live a normal Catholic life again.

"Is it a special occasion today?" the waitress asked, finding Patrick's apparent innocence adorable. _He couldn't be older than 25 or maybe he's just young for his age._ "Yes. It's his birthday." Helena said. "How young are you?" the waitress asked. "Thirty-nine." Patrick said, very honest.

The waitress snickered, and then whispered into Helena's ear, "He's joking, isn't he?" "If you knew mine, I think I'd get the same reaction from you a while ago," Helena said, giggling as well. "We'll make it special, miss, don't worry about that." She said, turning away, but not before greeting the celebrant.

Three black-and-white shots, three sepia shots, two color-accented and two normal colored shots of Caffe della Pace and six "Vogue covers" later, steaming hot espressos were laid on their table. Later on, both of them were staring at the huge glass of pistachio ice cream with spoons in it. "Enjoy!" the waitress said, finding the looks on both their faces priceless.

_It's a good thing I didn't decide on ordering that pignolata. If Patrick just knew how much I love pistachios…especially in ice cream form._ Her thoughts were disturbed when she saw a heaping spoonful of _gelato_ pointed at her mouth. The owner of that spoon had his left hand slightly covering his smiling lips, in such a way that his lip was touching his index finger.

He drew back the spoon, a mischievous look forming on his face. Giving him a scowl, she said, "Oh well, enjoy your mischief, Patrick McKenna," she pretended to stand up and leave. "I'll stop now. Please, sit down. I'm sorry." He said, knowing that she was just joking. She sat down and faced him.

Sitting in a secluded area of the terrace, they enjoyed the silence, away from the prying eyes of the passers-by. They couldn't go slow since they had other places to go to, but they were savoring the moment…and wiping the pistachio ice cream off their lips.

"And this should go to you…" Patrick said, the last spoonful of the ice cream given to Helena. "Aww, you're so sweet. Thanks. You're great at pleasing people…" she said as he chuckled. "I don't aim to please; however, I do aim to be the best," he replied.

Just in time to see the two straighten themselves up, the waitress came with the bill, which Helena promptly paid. They left _Caffe della Pace_ soon enough and started walking away from the Piazza. Looking into the distance, Helena's eyes flung open in delight.

"Helena!" came the shout of a lady with short, jagged, light brown hair and hazel eyes. She was walking beside a tall, well-built, pale-haired man who was familiar to both Patrick and Helena. Wearing a collared shirt under a striped sweater, skinny jeans and flats, the person was running wildly towards the pair. The man in all black beside her was trying to catch up.

She immediately embraced Helena, almost choking her. "Bella…you…can…let…go…of…me…now," Helena said, whimpering. "So where were you guys going?" Bella asked. "Strolling around the fountain actually…and I was planning to take him to the Colosseum," Helena whispered.

"O, hey, Chartrand! I hope you and Bella are enjoying," she said, "Uh…greet him happy birthday first." Patrick looked like he was about to retreat when he saw Bella but he kept himself under control. "Happy birthday, Patrick!" "Thanks, Bella." Thankfully, she did not think of squeezing him.

"Chartrand and I are going to this bar. Care to join us?" Bella asked, eliciting worried looks from Patrick and Helena. Chartrand walked to Patrick and whispered, "Happy birthday, Patrick. I'm sorry about Bella, we're just…high. Don't worry; I'll make sure you won't drink." "Thank you," Patrick replied.

* * *

Even against Helena's wishes, they were at a bar. The smell of smoke and alcohol was repulsive to Patrick, especially when Chartrand took out a stick and a lighter. "Chartrand, you should know better. Remember what happened last time?" Patrick said, reprimanding him.

"Oh right. I'm sorry," he kept his cigarette and lighter. _He never fails to reprimand me about this._ "Bella, Patrick and I won't drink," he called out, just as Bella was ordering her first martini. "Why?" she asked. _Patrick doesn't have a liver condition and neither do I. He has drunken a lot of wine from Masses and I think I have too during Christmas parties…I just don't want to drink!_ Chartrand thought.

"You need someone sober enough to take you home." Patrick said. _Good save, Patrick. She falls in love with random people when she's drunk._ Helena thought, winking at Patrick to commend him. "Oh well. Those who want to drink…drink. Bars exist for two reasons: drinking and dancing. My advice is: do at least one." Bella said.

Chartrand couldn't resist anymore. He sat beside Bella and ordered his alcohol. Helena and Patrick stood there, dumbfounded. "I don't want to dance either." Helena said, looking at the packed floor, with sconces of light making it hard to see another's face. The blaring electropop music was tempting, but neither of them wanted to give in.

Pushed to the dance floor by the crowd, Patrick and Helena got lost. They tried to find each other in a sea of drunken people who were either dancing or kissing passionately because of the lethal combination of music and alcohol.

Because he was used to a conservative way of living, he almost wanted to go to the nearest confessional after finding his way out. He was at a clearing, the center of the floor, with Helena standing across him, fanning away the smell of smoke.

With the crowd pressing against them, they had no other way out. The limited space forced them to close the gap between them. "Dance, if you want to. Make sure nobody recognizes you or else you're on the front page tomorrow," she said. "I can't pick up a beat. Believe me," Patrick said, his forehead pressed to hers.

"Good…" Helena said, as the music mellowed down. Every person on the floor was bathed in shadow, unrecognized except for the profile they created. In the midst of silhouettes in motion, two were steady. Everything was going slower and slower. Time was of no importance to them.

Just as they were about to seal the gap between their faces, a large bulb exploded into tiny pieces. Time resumed its mathematical progression. Slow mo was over. A panicking crowd went out of the bar, including Helena and Patrick, who both dragged a very drunk Bella and a flushing Chartrand. Bella had been lucky enough to drop some money to pay for their drinks.

Everyone thought the bar would burst into flames. Outside, they saw that it was just one bulb that broke. "Don't go back inside." Patrick said, holding Bella by the shoulder as she attempted to walk back. "You need some fresh air," he added. "This one needs a lot too." Helena said, trying to keep Chartrand standing on the cobblestones.

"Hang on. I'll buy them some coffee." Patrick said, seating Bella and Chartrand at the base of the Fountain of Four Rivers. Helena nodded, impressed by his quick response. Quick as a bullet, he took off and returned with two cups of coffee.

"I'm never going to drink again." Chartrand said, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter. "Put that back in your pocket!" Patrick angrily exclaimed. "You're drunk and you're going to smoke. Nothing's worse than that. Now, please, sober up. I don't want to send you back to the Swiss Guard barracks looking like a beet." The former camerlengo added, putting the coffee down beside Chartrand.

Helena was seated next to Bella, who was at Chartrand's right. "Here you go, Bella," Patrick said, making her drink. "Thanks…hey…you look like that guy I know. Your name's Patricia, right?" Bella asked.

"Bella…Patricia's not even a guy's name," Helena said, "Patrick, I am so sorry for letting these two come with us. I screwed up your birthday." "No, it's alright. I find it amusing, actually." Patrick said, on the verge of laughing. _I'm glad he's a sport._ Seeing the fatherly look in Patrick's eyes as he watched Bella and Chartrand, Helena was sure that he was not offended.

"Come on now, guys. I'm taking you home," Helena said, flagging a taxi as Bella and Chartrand clumsily stood up. Luckily for Helena, the driver was a Filipino. "_Uy, _Helena! _Anong maipaglilingkod ko sa'yo?_ (Hey, Helena! What can I do for you?)" He asked.

Helena told him just to follow what she said as the four of them entered the cab. They brought Bella home. Bella's older brother knew she'd come home drunk. They brought Chartrand to the Swiss Guard barracks. He looked somehow decent enough. Next, Helena told the driver to bring them to the Colosseum, but she said the order in her native tongue.

As they drove through the night, she turned to Patrick, who was beside her now. "Hey, we can always go home if you're tired." She told him, but he replied, "No…let's make everything you planned worth it. I'm sure this is our last stop. We still have an hour or so before tomorrow." Patrick said.

And off they went, down southeast of Piazza Navona…to the Flavian amphitheater.

* * *

"I have no idea why you blindfolded me…really, you don't have to surprise me or anything. Oww…was that a stone that hit my foot?" Patrick asked, clumsily walking as Helena grabbed him as they ran along thousand-year old stones. "Probably…can you still walk?" Helena asked, pausing a while to check on his foot.

"Yes…I'm fine…just don't dye my hair black tomorrow," he said, reminding her of their infiltration mission. "I was seriously thinking of making you blonde…but you look much better with your auburn hair," Helena said, "No problem with your foot, by the way."

She walked more slowly this time, now at his side, making sure that they were not endangering themselves. He was silent the whole time, except for the most annoying four words. "Are we there yet?" he asked, just exactly as they stepped on the highest point of the structure. "You can take off the handkerchief now." Helena said, standing a few steps behind him.

His hands did not have any sign of burn scars. His fingers were smooth as driftwood, slowly reaching to the knot behind his head, taking off the blindfold. Rubbing his blue eyes, he saw a divine panorama unfold before him. He stood almost 40 meters above ground, having a bird's-eye view of the Eternal City.

He looked behind him, seeing that all the stone that his feet had hit was actually the greatest monument to Roman spectacle and grandeur. _I should have never complained._ Raising his eyes, he saw the brilliance of the stars hover above him, even in the midst of the bright city 40 meters below.

But he did not forget to look at Helena's direction. A surge wiped out any drowsiness that could have sent him sleeping on the cold stone of the Colosseum. He walked to her and embraced her. "Thank you for bringing me here…I've been in Rome for so long, but I've never been here. I was too busy, too tired and all." With a sudden turn, he had her above the ground. He was spinning almost uncontrollably, carrying her.

When he stopped, he almost wanted to capture the priceless expression on her face but before he could laugh in triumph, she looked at him with her smoldering eyes. His grip loosened, putting her back on the ground. As her feet made the slightest contact with the stone, her lips could not wait.

Had there been many passers-by, they would be wondering why would there be two people making out on vertigo-inducing heights, and with the bright lights to match. Luckily for them, not even those who sold them the tickets would know of their contradiction to the bloody history of the amphitheater.

Going down to the next tier, they were ready to leave the place and go home. It was almost midnight. A cool spring breeze blew, making Helena stay a while to enjoy the air. Patrick went near her, a bit wary since she was standing on dangerous ground. "Come on…you might fall. That's around 15 meters…still dangerous in my standards." Patrick said, holding out a hand.

She turned around to look at him. In a split-second, she was gone from his sight. "HELENA?!" Patrick asked, leaning on the ledge. His blue eyes were at its largest, obviously scared. "I know what you're thinking. I'm wearing a skirt!" she said, tightening her grip on the ledge with her damp palms. "Wait, I'll go and get help," he said but he had second thoughts when he saw her hand inching closer to the end.

She could breathe easier, knowing that there was a hand ensuring her survival. She was pulled up, back to the safety of the interior. "Thanks, Patrick. I'll never stand on ledges ever again." Helena said, wiping some sweat from her brow. "Just make sure I'm with you when you stand on them." He said, smiling as they went out of the Colosseum and flagged a taxi back to Piazza Navona.

"Thank you for tonight, Helena. Watching Chartrand and Bella get drunk, eating great food and a huge glass of pistachio ice cream, kissing you on the third tier of the Colosseum, it could never get any better than this," Patrick said. "Anything for you," Helena said, garnering a sweet smile for herself.

* * *

Coming home, Feliz was already fast asleep. Patrick carried their canine friend to his basket and covered Feliz with the dog's favorite blanket. He removed his jacket and hung it on the coat rack near the door. Helena kicked off her flats and placed them on the shoe rack, freeing her feet from their constraints. They went up the stairs together, not saying a word due to their tiredness.

The only time they spoke was when they were branching out to their own rooms.

"Goodnight," Helena told him. "It's good morning, actually," Patrick said, glancing at his watch, "but anyone who wants to consider it night can do so. Goodnight, Helena," he said, kissing her cheek as they parted ways.

In her room, Helena did not bother to change into her pajamas. She kicked off her shoes and dropped her clutch on the table. Diving under the covers, she was in for a deep sleep.

In the other room, Patrick was already asleep, dreaming, with his shoes, socks and cardigan forming a messy heap on the floor. On his face was the smile of an angel. With the moon casting a spotlight on him, he seemed to have dropped straight from heaven.

[End chapter 4.]

* * *

About the food, just reading about them made me damn hungry though I just ate dinner. This is your menu. I'll be explaining only those which seem new to you. I'm sure you guys are well-acquainted with _gelato _[ice cream…*drools*] and _espressos_: (BTW, I'm not Italian.)

PASTA

_Bucatini all'__amatriciana_- _bucatini_ (made of hard durum wheat flour and water; thick spaghetti-like pasta with a hole running through the center) with _guanciale_(unsmoked Italian bacon prepared with pig's jowl or cheeks), tomatoes and _pecorino_ (cheese made from ewe's milk)

MAIN COURSE

_Saltimbocca alla Romana_- Veal cutlet, Roman-style; topped with raw ham and sage and simmered with white wine and butter

_Tonno alla palermitana_- tuna Palermo-style; tuna marinated in white wine, lemon, garlic, rosemary and broiled, then served with pan-seared sardines

WINE

_Tazzelenghe_- fruity wine that mellows as it ages but maintains a good amount of its fruitiness; made in the northeastern Italian region of Friuli-Venezia Giulia

DESSERT

_Pignolata_- soft pastry from Sicily, and covered in chocolate and lemon flavored syrup/icing. This pastry will have half covered or iced in one flavoring and the other half in the other flavor, which hardens when the _pignolata_ is ready to be served.

I hope I didn't make you guys TOO hungry. Toodles!

-TDYSG


	5. Sheep in Wolves' Clothing

After the grueling, tiring and murderous exam week, here I come with the next chapter of _Into the Deepest Darkness._ Thank you to all those who reviewed! You guys really inspired me to get back in the writer's seat.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own _Angels and Demons_…and I don't own "Pokerface" either.

Patrick's lighter hair was inspired by a picture of Ewan McGregor from China…and he was holding a little red fox plush doll. : 3

**AiLuvYuu**: Everyone deserves some love. :D Thanks for reading the prequel also.

**Armitage Blade**: That was also the reason why I wanted him to live on. He's a mesmerizing character, so confused, so conflicted, but just so convicted…and the fact that he needs a hug. Yes, this story will be finished…thank you for also reading the prequel. It warms my heart to hear that you found inspiration.

If you need a refresher on the mission thing, browse Chap 3. That being said, let's get on with the show!

* * *

Chapter 5: Sheep in Wolves' Clothing

"Trust me…I did not destroy your _perfect_ hair. Your hair is more of brown than red...which I lightened so that it would look like a muted autumn leaf," Helena said, quickly rubbing the towel on Patrick's dripping hair.

"If I don't recognize myself in the mirror later, it's a success…just make sure I don't look stupid," Patrick said, since his eyes were closed as Helena dried his head. "You won't look stupid, I promise. Well, look at me, I'm wearing eyeglasses and keeping my hair always tied." Helena said.

"Helena, love, you'd look good in anything. I can imagine you with red eyes and still look as beautiful as you do right now," he said, opening his eyes, glad to find no mirror there.

"You'll have to lay off the gel for a while but in no circumstances will you comb your hair back the way you did back at the Vatican," Helena stood in front of him, using a comb to allow a few strands of his thick hair to fall softly on his face. Playing around with his hair, she managed to make him look very natural, as if he had just risen from bed.

"Come on…you'll have to look at yourself sooner or later." Helena told him, pulling him to the full-length mirror in her room. _God help me…_Patrick thought. _If it wasn't for this mission…I wouldn't have allowed her to touch my hair._ If they were to stop whatever plan Mr. Gray was to concoct, they'd better make Patrick look different.

_Chartrand also sent me a message saying that he'll get his hair cut_, he thought. It was just the day after his birthday and he was already thinking that this was another present. His thoughts stopped when Helena said, "With bias or not, you…look…gorgeous. Open your eyes."

As Patrick opened his eyes, he was greeted by himself, staring back in wonder. His lips were in a grin but his eyes showed his satisfaction a hundred times more. "I must be dreaming." Helena said, removing the spectacles. "As far as I know, you are not. Hmm…you look better without your glasses…and let your hair down. He won't recognize you," Patrick said.

"For all I know, he would. I'd rather play safe," she replied. The light shone through the large windows of Helena's room, bathing Patrick and her in its rays. "Besides, we still have to work on your family background, _Christian Vescovi_. What are you supposed to say again?"

Patrick sat down on Helena's bed and pressed his finger to his lip, thinking. "I was eight when my parents died during a shootout in Glasgow and I was put up in an orphanage. It so happened that I was playing outside the building when a kind yet barren Italian couple on vacation saw me and said that they found me kind of cute," he said, with a cheesy grin.

"Yeah, as if your former hitman's going to buy that." Helena said, giggling. "Okay…to make the long story short, they adopted me. I lived in Italy since then." Patrick said, matter-of-factly. "Much better…and what was your surname before you were adopted?" Helena asked.

"Donoghue." He answered. "Well, Helena, it's your turn. So...your record says that you were born in the Philippines. How do you read your surname and how did you get yourself here in Italy?" Patrick asked, his voice as hollow as Mr. Gray's.

"It's spelled as Ojeda but it's pronounced Augh-heh-duh…I'm an overseas worker and my placement agency put me here in Italy as a maid," Helena said. "Well, you don't look remotely Asian. What's the story?" Patrick asked.

"My Spanish father left us when he found out my mother was pregnant. Never spoke to us…never came back. He didn't even dare call." Helena said. "Excellent. We both know our parts." Patrick said, as Helena subtly raised her thumb.

"How about Chartrand? What identity was he to assume?" she asked. "He was going to be a former tour bus driver. I don't know how he'll pull that off." Patrick thought. "We'll just have to look like angels." Helena said, looking at the dome of St. Peter's. It was proudly standing in the distance, framed by Helena's window.

* * *

8th of April, Thursday morning…

"_Now…the three of you will be briefed at the Vatican on the 8th, that's a Thursday, a week from now. You will proceed with the mission on the 9th. Both of you may leave." Commissioner Marino said. Both stood up and saluted stiffly before leaving._

The office of Commander Laguardia, the new head of the Guard, was rearranged for the briefing. His desk and chair were pushed to the sides; in place of the objects were a white screen, projector and laptop in front of the screen. Three dark wood chairs were at the right of the projector and three taller dark wood chairs were at the left.

Seven people went through the door, which was locked by the commander. Three of them sat on the shorter chairs while the other three sat on the taller chairs. A Guard younger than Chartrand opened the projector and transferred the images from the laptop to the screen.

He also turned off the huge fluorescent light and opened the smaller incandescent lights in the corners. They were set to low intensity, like a theater. With the scant light and a clear view of the presentation, Commander Laguardia stood up and tested his laser pointer on the screen.

"Your Holiness, Commissioner Marino, Miss Gallego, Mister McKenna and Lieutenant Chartrand, I would like to welcome you to the briefing for the mission of the three brave assets of the State. I also want to thank you, Alexander, for your help in today's briefing," he said, also acknowledging the young officer.

"You are now provided with your "documents" and they were provided by the _Polizia di Stato_ and not by the Vatican. I must say that the three of you went great lengths to conceal your identities. Someone dyed his hair auburn," he said, looking at Patrick, who received a thumbs-up from Marino and a stifled laugh from His Holiness.

"But it suits him," the Pope said, making Patrick want to put back the cap he had been carrying. "It does…so he'd better stay away from the ladies," the commander said, "And someone _tried_ yet _failed_ to look like a nerd…and the last one has bangs." He looked at Helena and Chartrand respectively.

"After all your preparations and suitcase-packing, here comes the best--or worst-- part: the mission proper. You shall be flown by helicopter to Genoa and at the Cristoforo Colombo Airport, you will be met by the man who was supposedly your recruitment agent, Sergeant Karl Anselm Haber," the next slide was shown, showing Sergeant Haber's photo.

He was around 45, but his hair had already taken a salt-and-pepper color. He had green eyes which appeared to be bulging out of their sockets, an aquiline nose and thin lips. His pale skin was highlighted by the black suit he wore but he had a cheerful smile which kept him from looking like a ghost.

"Next slide, Alexander…now that place is the one that Sergeant Haber had went into. Kind of odd…it looks like it was carved from the mountain itself because the manor's made of the cold gray stone of the Apennines. Your job is to get all the information you can and send it over to us. We'll be providing you with some things you need. Chartrand, don't give up smoking yet. Your cigarette box would be helpful in this operation." Commander Laguardia said.

Chartrand grinned as Patrick muttered under his breath, "Great…you're lucky I'm the library guy. Hopefully the library there wouldn't be low-oxygen."

"Sergeant Haber was unable to procure a proper picture of the target since Gray had been dyeing his hair and changing his contact lenses every three days or so. Haber could not tell what he really looked like. As much as possible, you should only gather information but I leave it to your discretion if an incident needing your response would arise. Your decisions should also be coordinated with either the police or the Guard so that we are aware of what you are doing. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir." The three chorused. He continued, "I am very sure that you three are aware of your duties so fulfill them as if they were the very reason you were there. Keep a straight face and be VERY discreet. In case of a need to escape, Sergeant Haber would gladly assist you but I strongly discourage you from doing so."

"You don't want his minions chasing after you. With no disruptions and incidents, the infiltration would be done in a week but you three have to leave on separate occasions so as not to make your employer suspicious." Commander Laguardia sternly warned.

"I will meet the three of you in this office tomorrow at 8:30 A.M. sharp. Commissioner Marino shall give you your documents later. I know that you three have been trained in respectable institutions and I am assured of your integrity, responsibility and wisdom. Before we end this briefing, are there any questions?" Commander Laguardia asked.

"Danilo, for one thing, I know that Patrick and Helena are…you probably know what I mean. Are they allowed to stay that way?" Marino asked. _YOU DAMN BASTARD._ Helena thought, glaring dangerously at her commissioner.

"If it would distract Gray…why not?" He said, exchanging winks with the _commissario_. The Pope asked a grave question. "Are we sure that they will survive after this?" "By the grace of God, hopefully, they would. We would communicate with them from time to time." Danilo said, looking at the three.

"From you three, any questions?" Commander Laguardia asked. "Could I make a request? If ever I die, do your best to recover my corpse and send it back to Switzerland." Chartrand said. "If it happens to me also, send me back to Manila and sell my flat…put my dog up for adoption." Helena said.

"If Gray shoots me, I probably deserved it. Just dump me in the ground. I don't even deserve to be in even the lowest quality of an urn." Patrick said. "But we're wishing that there would be no need for those to be fulfilled." The Pope told them.

"We will be as careful as we can." Helena said, giving a slight assurance. "Let's stop talking morbidly and end this briefing. Get some sleep tonight." Commander Laguardia said as Alexander opened the fluorescent lights and turned off the smaller lights. He turned off the projector and the laptop. Commissioner Marino gave the three their faked documents and said, "Good luck to the three of you."

The three took turns in kissing the Pontiff's ring before leaving. "May God bless these brave souls," he said. Commander Laguardia opened the door. "Just make sure that…" he was cut off suddenly by the ringing of Marino's cellphone.

_Can't read my, can't read my, no you can't read my…poker face…she's got to love nobody_…hearing that, Commander Laguardia said, "Yes…that was my reminder." "Sorry…stupid message alert tone…I'll never let my niece touch my phone. You three may go and carry on with your lives."

"P-p-p-poker face p-p-poker face!" Helena belted out. "Mum mum mum mah!" was the surprise reply. They all looked at Patrick and Chartrand with cringes. "What? When Bella pulled us all to that place and she was drunk, that was playing!" Chartrand said, shrugging. "I heard a few Swiss Guards singing that while I was still the Camerlengo. They'd stop when I raise an eyebrow at them." Patrick said.

The three men looked at the three younger ones with obvious bewilderment. "Was that sacrilege?" Patrick asked. "We're in the barracks, not the basilica…so…not really." Chartrand said. "Sing all you want when you're back in Rome…just not here. I think the song's going to be stuck in my mind for a while." Commander Laguardia said. His Holiness blessed the three as they went out, slightly shaking his head as the two heads sighed.

"A fine trio, I believe." "Really, Your Holiness?" Commander Laguardia asked, running a hand through his coarse dark brown hair. "Put together a former conspirator with a lot of charisma, a police officer who is stronger than some of the men in the force and a brave, loyal Swiss Guard who watches the back of his mates," the Pope replied.

"It also helps that all three have a certain charm. Chartrand comes off as innocent; Patrick can convince anyone to join his cause with his impassioned speeches and Helena's an edgy, spunky type who'd defy all traditional definitions of being a lady." Commissioner Marino remarked.

"Just…don't have a hidden desire for any of them," the Pope said, slightly disturbed by Marino's exalted description.

* * *

The next day, 7:30 AM…

"Feliz, I can't bring you there. I'm sorry." Helena said, stroking the fur of her Siberian husky. "We'll be home in two weeks or less, I promise." Patrick said as he scratched Feliz's head. The dog seemed to light up with joy.

"For the meantime, you'll be staying over with Bella. She'd love to have you, especially because she's going to miss Chartrand and all. Be a good dog and don't cause her any trouble. She'll be coming over in a second." The moment Helena said 'second' the doorbell rang.

Feliz ran downstairs and Patrick dashed after him. Helena shook her head, straightening out the sheets of her bed. Walking around the room, she opened the drawer of her side table. She saw an envelope there that she never remembered owning. It was blank, without any return address or addressee. It was also sealed.

She tore the flap of the envelope and saw a sheet of hard, cream-colored paper folded thrice. Unfolding the paper, her eyes glowered in surprise. _Impossible…_ The letter was written in Spanish, the script belonging to the 19th century rather than the modern age. It even appeared to have been written using a quill.

In her youth, schools in her country sometimes gave compulsory Spanish classes, especially before the 1990s. Some of the contents, she actually understood; the others, she just used the derivations of the Filipino language to decode the letter. Some words of the Filipino language were borrowed from Spanish, anyway. She had experienced such, so she understood the contents of the letter. It was undated:

_To my dearest Helena,_

_ If you remember your mother's sister, your aunt Isabel, coming to you, I hope that she snuck this and gave it to you. I don't know where you are now because Isabel had not told me where you were exactly. All she told me was that you have not resided in the Philippines since 1999._

_ I don't blame you if you have any grudges against me. I wish that I had not left you, but my mother did not want me to marry your mother, who was my maid during that time. Now that your grandmother has passed away, I am free, but I have found out that your mother is married to someone who at least tried to consider you as his own daughter._

_ Though I have maintained contact with your Aunt Isabel, she refuses to divulge more sensitive information; I respect that. Wherever you are now, I want to wish you "Happy Birthday" for all those years that I have not been with you. _

_I heard that you are not married yet; take your time. As long as the man you love is kind, strong-willed and hardworking, my blessing is with you. It would also be a bonus if he's a good-looking fellow, especially if he has blue eyes like I do. You'd have blue-eyed kids wandering the streets with you. I hope you studied genetics very well. Harhar!_

_Your aunt also told me that the only attribute that you inherited from your mother was her beautiful brown eyes and her black hair. All the other traits, like height, wavy hair, overall appearance and smarts, were from me. I wish I had been there to watch my little princess grow into the empress of her world._

_If you ever read this letter, don't reply. I'm sure you have noticed that there was no return address. As you read this, I am probably searching some country in search of you. I saw your Aunt Isabel one day on my last visit to the Pearl of the Orient and I told her to give this to you._

_I wish you good luck always. Live your life to the fullest, as if every day was your last. I'm sorry for never saying this to you but…I'm sorry and I love you. Take care of that necklace I gave you. I hope that one day I'd see you again._

_Love,_

_Joaquin Cuesta_

_(P.S. But to you, that's DAD.)_

"Dammit, dad." Helena muttered, furtively swatting away a tear. Patrick was already seated at the edge of the bed, watching her with a comforting smile. "Feliz is with Bella already…" he said, pausing to look at the letter, "It must be from your father," he said. "How did you know?" she asked, surprised.

Patrick picked up something which fell from the envelope. It was a studio photograph of her father. He was tall, with fair skin. He was of medium-build, wearing a suit, with a few lines on his face signifying his age. He had blue eyes and reddish-blonde hair stained by graying strands. By estimation, he was in his late fifties.

"He cares about you." Patrick said as he gave her the photograph. She put the letter inside the envelope and stared at the picture. There was a very striking resemblance. "He does; in fact, he's scouring the world looking for me. Had he left any number, I could have told him that I was here in Rome," Helena said, stashing everything in the side table drawer.

"When we come back, there'll be enough time to plan a family reunion." Patrick said. "I don't know if we're even coming back." Helena said. "By the grace of God, we will," he said. Taking their suitcases and leaving the house, they drove her car to the Vatican, leaving her Fiat in a private parking space. They met up with Chartrand at the barracks. The three tweaked their appearance a bit more to the point that only certain features made them recognizable.

* * *

After Patrick's visit to his father's tomb, the Pope gave them a final blessing. Their communication devices were then connected to the Vatican. When all was ready, they were taken to the chopper. Commander Laguardia and Commissioner Marino went with them to Genoa.

"You visited Inspector Olivetti's and Commander Rocher's tomb earlier this week?" Commissioner Marino asked Patrick. "Well, yes…to make amends and to ask for their help in this mission." Patrick said. "His Holiness is really worried about the three of you," Commander Laguardia said.

"It is a dangerous mission…he has all the right to be worried," Chartrand said, "by the way, Patrick, do you still remember how to fly helicopters?" "It's second nature to me to try to go to the cockpit and fiddle with it…but I'm restraining myself." Patrick said, smiling. "I hope you did _not_ write that on your resume, Patrick." Helena said.

"Seriously, Patrick, I almost didn't recognize you with lighter hair. If some of my men were softies, then they would have doubted their manliness had they seen you." Commander Laguardia said, almost reprimanding the former priest.

"He did gather quite a few admirers back in Piazza Navona, since it's near the flat where I live," Helena said, proud of her beloved, "I didn't expect it at first because of his reputation but he won out in the end with his smile."

"Helena…how's Bella?" Chartrand said, sighing. "She misses you a lot. She even begged me to take you out of this," she replied. "Don't worry, Chartrand. I'm her commander; I can sneak her some calls." Commissioner Marino said with a wave of the hand.

"We are approaching Genoa Cristoforo Colombo Airport. Prepare for landing," the pilot said, as the chopper slowly descended from the sky and to a helipad. Down on the tarmac was someone wearing a short-sleeved blue shirt tucked into tan slacks with a belt. "Karl even took time to gussy up," commented Commander Laguardia.

When the whirring of blades stopped, the three went outside with their suitcases, followed by the two superiors, whose ties were flying in the spring breeze. Marino and Laguardia shook hands with Sergeant Haber. "Sergeant Haber, may I introduce you to Lieutenant Chartrand, Inspector Helena Maria Gallego, and former Camerlengo / Father Patrick McKenna," Laguardia said, pointing to each.

"Karl Anselm Haber…if I got it right…Chartrand, Helena and Patrick," his heavily-accented English reflected his Swiss-German roots. "Now, you three, remember the plan, stick to it. Do not cause any trouble." Marino warned. "Karl, you have three _rascals_ at hand. Take care of them," Laguardia said, grinning widely.

"Oh I will…but such charming rascals you brought. May God protect you on the way home," Karl replied. The four saluted the two superiors as Marino and Laguardia went up the chopper, waved to them, and made their way back to the Vatican.

"It won't be a long drive, but it's a scenic one. Be careful though, we're going to face the woods." Sergeant Haber said, leading the three to a minivan. "So, what are your aliases?" he asked. "Victoria Ojeda," Helena replied. "Christian Vescovi," Patrick said. "Johann Kiefer," Chartrand said.

"Well done with the name choosing. Now, get in. The adventure starts here." Karl said, with a glint in his eye that made Chartrand's face paler than his recently-fringed hair.

At noon…

"Helena, you'd better keep that digital camera of yours. You won't be convincing if Mr. Gray sees you carrying that," Sergeant Haber said, as the starry-eyed police officer took pictures of the view. The mountain was facing the Ligurian Sea, offering a stunning view.

"I know, sir," Helena said, stashing it into her suitcase. "Stop that. Just call me Karl." "We should go down and swim there…" Patrick said, smiling coyly. "And why, if I may ask?" Chartrand implored, smelling something fishy. "It's a dolphin sanctuary. Haven't you heard of the Pelagos Sanctuary for Mediterranean Marine Mammals?" Patrick replied.

"I've never seen a live dolphin before!" "If our employer might allow us to have a one-day break because we're such angels, we'll run off to the sea and start diving," Helena told Chartrand, who relished in the idea.

"No one among you three will go to the sea…" Sergeant Haber threatened, "…unless you invite me." "Of course we will," Patrick promised. "Very well then, we're here…" their driver said, stopping the car in front of a glorious stone manor. The three almost dislocated their jaws looking at the house.

* * *

A stone path led to the manor, with a rotunda in the center of the path. The rotunda featured a tall, fully-operational marble fountain with discreet lights and an angel standing upon it, his robes carved in such a dramatic fashion. The sideways-facing angel carried a lance. The lance pointed to the villa.

The path was lined with Mediterranean cypresses, with narrow crowns pointing towards the clear blue sky. A cool breeze brought the fragrance of the trees to the four noses struck by the property's splendor. Well-trimmed hedges ensured that the gardens separated by the path looked like mirror images of themselves.

The villa itself was a three-storey building, made of light gray stones with a tiled red roof. The frames of the windows were white, with some balconies and a few other statues beautifying the exterior. The porch of the villa had stone steps leading to a cypress and gold-knob door framed by Ionic columns.

At the back of the villa were stables carved directly from the rigid mountain. Horses did reside there, as well as stacks of hay. The whole structure was situated on a plateau, overlooking the sea. The plateau had a high fence to keep people from falling but there was a raised area that would allow an observer to see Genoa from there.

Hidden from the eyes of many (including our four companions) was a moss-covered tower carved from the mountain wall. The interior of this stone tower was a cold, dank room which would remind anyone of a dungeon, only without the skeletons and chains. It was lit by candles on wrought-iron stands which seemed to have been ransacked from Gothic cathedrals.

A wide window was covered by an unrefined piece of rock, effectively hiding the tower. Cool breezes and a view covered by tendrils would greet the observer.

Back on the ground, a maid, wearing a uniform fit for a five-star hotel, led the four into the house. Upon opening the door, they were greeted by a sparkling, incandescent chandelier illuminating a huge receiving room with a Persian rug sprawling across the wooden floors, the hardwood furniture and some paintings.

A grand piano stood at the side, facing a vertical window shielded by brocade curtains. A silver candelabrum with three branches stood on top of it. The other side contained a mosaic probably made during the height of the Roman Empire. The center wall of the room had a fireplace, with all the pokers in one side. The fireplace went straight up into a chimney; the fire was also behind a screen.

They were led first to the kitchen; behind it was the eating area for the few servants who stayed in the household. Lunch for Chartrand, Helena and Patrick were 2 pieces of bread and a maximum of two bowls of lentil soup. Patrick tried to sneak another bowl (since he loved lentils), but Sergeant Haber grabbed him by the ear before he could even touch the ladle.

The maid led them to an underground area, with cavernous corridors lit by torches. They were led to a large room, with three fully-furnished beds and three armoires. They were also given a partial map of the manor, as well as schedules and instructions.

When the three had settled themselves, Sergeant Haber and the maid brought them to a spacious room with gray walls. The room was not lit until the maid left. The four who remained saw a small flame flicker from nowhere. The flame moved to the four corners of the room, slowly showing the paintings which hung on the walls, a carved desk with a quill and sepia ink.

Behind the desk was a chair, and there sat a man who was still hidden in the darkness. He put the burning match on a brazier, which gave off a flame which showed the man's face. If Patrick had not known how to hide his intentions, he would have screamed in an instant. They were right; nobody was plotting revenge for Mr. Gray because he himself was plotting.

It was his former hitman, Mr. Gray, and no one else. The man's light hair, gold-rimmed eyeglasses and affinity with tea certainly proved that. The room was chilly and damp because of the stone used to create it. The light from the brazier also revealed four chairs arranged in a line.

"Please, sit." His voice was hollow, almost a whisper. Noiselessly, the four sat. "Sir, as promised, I have brought to you a new chambermaid, a driver, and someone with the organizational skills of a librarian," Sergeant Haber's dark voice was a direct contrast to his employer's.

"Well done, Mr. Hirsch. You did not only bring me young, fresh employees; you also made sure that they would rival the beauty of the portraits and sculptures in this house. You may leave the manor after I talk to them, but if you want to check on these three, you are always welcome, Anselm. Take this as your commission," Mr. Gray handed him a sealed envelope with a check inside. He turned to the four.

"Introduce yourselves, starting with…you, redhead," he smiled at Patrick. Thanks to the stray wisps of Patrick's flaming hair, Gray could not see the look of surprise in Patrick's eyes. "Christian Vescovi, your librarian on probation. You may call me Redhead, as you have done earlier." the redhead answered, with a smile.

"Redhead then, but…Christian is a fine name. You're a sport, Christian…and I like it." "Thank you," Patrick said. "And you are?" Mr. Gray turned to Chartrand. "Johann Kiefer, your driver," Chartrand answered.

"Your file says that you were once a tour bus driver here. Where exactly did you tour?" Mr. Gray said, raising an eyebrow. _I wasn't ready for that question!_ "I got assigned to a lot of places, but I enjoyed Rome most." Chartrand answered. "Well, you won't experience the Roman traffic here, Johann. And you…I can't pronounce your surname." Mr. Gray looked at Helena, who was wearing eyeglasses and tied hair.

"Victoria Ojeda, sir…oh-heh-duh." Helena pronounced it for him. "Spanish descent or Filipino surname?" Mr. Gray asked, reading her file. "Both, actually."

"No wonder you don't look remotely Asian. Do take off the glasses one day." Mr. Gray said. "I'm nearsighted, sir," Helena said. "Oh well, I wear glasses too…who am I to tell you to take them off? Well, then, Mr. Hirsch," he turned to Sergeant Haber, "it's already 3:10…they will report to me at 3:40. For the meantime, let them wander around to familiarize themselves."

"Thank you, Monsieur Gris, for accepting these three." Sergeant Haber said, leading the three away into the gardens. As they looked back to see their employer once more, all the candles and the brazier had lost their flame. The room became dark once more.

* * *

"There are _shutters _all over the place, so be discreet. Communicate with me and the others as much as you can. I will come from time to time to check on you, so do your job well. Good luck." Sergeant Haber raised the window of his van and went down the rolling Alpine slopes.

After a little stroll around the villa, Helena, Patrick and Chartrand reported back to Mr. Gray, who gave them uniforms. Gray himself designed the uniforms. "At least it doesn't look like Michelangelo's multicolored clown costume," Helena scoffed. Chartrand was thankful that he didn't have to don the colorful Swiss Guard garb when he was in the Vatican.

Chartrand came out in his uniform first. He wore a white long-sleeved shirt and wide slacks with suspenders and a bowler hat. "I feel like I came from the wrong era," Chartrand said, looking in the mirror. Helena came out next, looking every inch a French maid.

Her black dress had short, puffy sleeves but had ornate white frills on the collar and the front. She also wore a white, ruffled apron on her voluminous skirt. She wore thick black tights and low patent pumps. All of her apparel seemed incongruous with her tied hair and black-rimmed eyeglasses.

"At least you don't look like a soap opera character," Helena said, despising the uniform, "It's slightly loose around the arms." "Pa—I mean, Christian, come out! We want to see what you look like," Chartrand called. "Promise me you won't laugh," a soft voice came from outside.

"We won't! Or at least…Johann won't," Helena called out. Patrick went into the room, tugging at the knitted argyle vest he was wearing. He came out in a white shirt with collars, a sweater vest and slacks. "Our boss has a seriously bad case of favoritism." Chartrand shook his head.

"It's beyond cure, Johann." Helena said, not peeling her eyes from Patrick.

* * *

"There's a book here which has an incomprehensible plot and I want you to interpret it for me, Christian. I've seen your Literature grades from college, and they are exceptional. Forgive me if I will be a slow learner, but I am not used to reading. Just stay here while I go get it." Mr. Gray said, walking through twelve bookshelves with books on both sides of the shelves.

As Mr. Gray disappeared into the thousand of books in the antique library which brought back the era of Romanticism, Patrick tripped on an odd marker on the floor. The marker was a bolt the size of a bottle cap. It had the face of Janus, the Roman god, on it.

A drawer in the floor suddenly opened, revealing a stack of manuscripts with a metal ball holding them in place. Patrick took out his pen, shining light on the paper on top. The paper showed calculations and figures. _Physics. Wait a second…explosion force? Area of damage? He's planning to…_

Patrick changed the mode of the pen, which actually held a cellphone camera. He scanned the whole document to give a good picture. That very moment, all the feed from his camera was sent to the Vatican. "Christian, I found the book already. Hang on; I'm just fixing this pile of books which fell." Mr. Gray called out.

Patrick did not know how to close the drawer. He panicked slightly as he kept his pen. In his worry, he tripped on the marker again and the drawer sealed shut, invisible. He stood up and dusted his pants. Just at that moment, Mr. Gray was approaching, with a slight frown as he looked at his watch.

"It's already late, and if you'll discuss with me the plot of this story, we might take until morning here. I'll call for you tomorrow. I'll just read it again and see if I can understand. That's all for now; you may go." Mr. Gray dismissed Patrick.

Patrick ran to his room. Helena was already asleep on the leftmost bed and Chartrand was already snoring on the floor. Patrick put Chartrand back on the bed and covered the blonde's head to muffle the noise.

Patrick went to Helena and shook her slightly. "It's…11:58…why did you wake me up?" "I saw one of Mr. Gray's files…he's planning to blow the Vatican up," Patrick said. Helena jolted upright. "How did you find it?"

"I tripped on a bolt and it showed a drawer in the floor. I already sent a picture of it through the pen. He's calculating for the mass of the bomb…since the greater the mass, the more damage it creates, but he wants to limit it to St. Peter's Square." Patrick said in Italian.

With her gaping mouth and saucer-like eyes, Helena could only say,

"No way."

* * *

I have not much of an idea on architecture and, so forgive me the way I described the manor and all. I patterned some of this after Renaissance villas.

In case you're baffled about the codenames:

Christian Vescovi- Patrick McKenna

Victoria Ojeda- Helena Gallego

Johann Kiefer- Chartrand

Anselm Hirsch- Sergeant Haber

That's my little Christmas gift to all of you. Have happy little dreams of Patrick! :D Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, readers! Don't worry; I'll also give you a New Year firecracker. Toodles!

-TDYSG (12-24-09)


	6. Shock and Awe

To you, guys, this is your New Year firecracker! While on a roadtrip, I heard on the radio that the Philippine government stated that, "_**there is no safe pyrotechnic device**_". I guess it will be the same with this one.

Usual disclaimers apply, and in addition to that, I do not own the works of Edgar Allan Poe and "Where Did You Sleep Last Night?" by Nirvana and The Fairly OddParents…and warnings for expletives. Try to find the line where I put the Nirvana lyrics. (Hint: Someone uses it to answer the phone.)

* * *

Chapter 6: Shock and Awe

_"No way."_

Helena fell back on her bed. "Don't lie to me." "How could I lie to you? I have two eyes and those are exactly what they saw." Patrick said, looking her in the eye even in the dark. "Shit," she cursed under her breath, as her eyes caught sight of something unwanted. She pulled Patrick down and put her mouth to his ear, giving a strained whisper.

"There are _shutters_ in this room. I know somebody's watching us. Forgive me, but I need to do this," Helena said. She took out Chartrand's army knife, which was in her bedside drawer because of confusion and snuck it under the blanket.

Patrick felt the blade slide on his forearm. The knife made a 1.5 inch-long cut halfway between his wrist and his elbow. "And you think I'd lie to you?" he asked aggressively, playing the part. His wound was oozing little blood, but Patrick made it bleed a bit more. He showed it to Helena, who promptly fetched some materials in the bathroom.

"I'm sorry for that." She whispered in his ear as she began to treat the wound. "Forgiven," he was not wincing. He had gone through worse. "How did you get this?" Helena asked. "Papercut from the library as I went out…" Patrick said.

After placing a band-aid on his wound, Helena told him, "Be careful next time," with a wink. Patrick gave her a kiss. "_Dad_ himself agreed to keep us in this state," he told her. "Go to sleep…we'll talk about this with Johann and Mr. Hirsch tomorrow, _Patrick_." The last word was just mouthed. "Goodnight, _Helena_." He also mouthed.

* * *

The next morning, when the three were working, Mr. Gray came upon their room and went through their belongings, carefully plucking them to make sure that they would not notice the intrusion. He failed to find anything suspicious, except for Chartrand's box of cigarettes. _Great…my driver's going to hyperventilate…oh well…this is just halfway up the mountain._

Helena hid her digital camera by slipping it within the lining of her suitcase. That part was covered by hygiene items, which Mr. Gray did not dare touch. As Gray had no apprehension to open Patrick's suitcase, he was horrified to find sealed bags of coffee. _Coffee?! The horror! The only thing bearable enough is tea!_

Because of his aversion to the powdered source of caffeine, he did not dare to even feel if there was anything in those bags of coffee. He sealed the suitcase shut, never wanting to see it again. He had no idea that most of the group's surveillance devices were sealed in cases matching the color of the powdered coffee.

Besides coffee, he also saw a plush doll. It was a green-haired, green-eyed fairy who appeared dim-witted. _Christian Vescovi, are you gay?!_ Mr. Gray thought as he left the room.

Outside…

Helena had wandered a bit off in the forest so as not to be caught by the CCTV's. Her phone was ringing. She took it from a case strapped to her thigh and answered it. The caller's name was "_Dad_".

_Father for Commander Laguardia, Mother for Commissioner Marino…eww…I need some brain bleach to wash out the image of Marino in an apron and dress. It doesn't help that Patrick's my "cousin" and that Chartrand is my "brother"._ It would not be the Commander who would directly contact her; rather, a Filipino who would translate everything that Laguardia said. Helena would respond; the reply would be turned over to Laguardia by someone who would listen.

"Helena, the office has analyzed the images that Patrick sent last night. How did he find them?" a compatriot asked. "He tripped on a bolt and saw it from a drawer on the floor," she returned blatantly. "Now that we know the offense strategy, if you may, find out how he will infiltrate the grounds. Alert has been secretly heightened since 7:00 AM today," the caller said.

"We're on it," Helena said, nodding. "Thank you, Inspector Gallego. Be on your toes and good luck."

* * *

In the library…

Patrick was arranging the piled-up books by author. He was already working on a few books by Edgar Allan Poe. While cataloguing, he was reading "The Cask of Amontillado" since his employer was confused by its plot.

_If I can squeeze something out of Galileo's Diagramma, what more with this?_ As he was at the part where Fortunato starts coughing, something vibrated in his pocket. He took out his wallet and ran behind one of the bookcases because of a camera which operated near the table where he was reading the story.

One would probably wonder why a wallet would vibrate. One of the sections of Patrick's wallet was transparent, a place for displaying small pictures. The phone parts were placed in a tough part of the wallet, with the screen of the phone hidden under a picture of him and Helena.

He snuck out the picture and looked at the touch-screen. The message came from "Aunt Frances".

_When it says Uncle Daniel, it's the Commander…since his name's Danilo. Aunt Frances is the Commissioner since Francisco's one of his given names. 'Oatmeal'…that's Karl, because Haber means "oats"; 'Evergreen' would be Chartrand, since 'Kiefer', his alias, means 'pine tree'._

'_River' would be Helena, since her alias, 'Ojeda', is the name of a river. 'Chess' would be me, since 'Vescovi' means 'bishop'. Here we go, Aunt Frances._

The same with Helena, the message would be written in another language. This time, it was Scottish Gaelic, his mother tongue, since he grew up in Ulster.

It read (in English), "Good job on finding the plan…we are currently completing the calculations for the mass of the explosive and the damage it could produce. We have delegated Helena to find the path he'll take to get to Rome. Since you are assigned to the library, you'll have to find what materials he'll use for the explosive…if you can. If you cannot, start researching on explosive materials."

He replied, in Scottish Gaelic, "Got it." Immediately, he deleted the inbox and the sent messages archive on his wallet-phone. He stowed it in his pocket and went back to arranging the last of the books, but not after finishing "The Cask of Amontillado".

"Oh, revenge," he sighed, reading the inhumane method by which Montresor murdered Fortunato.

* * *

Chartrand felt awkward, not just because of his odd uniform, but also because he was currently driving his enemy-slash-employer down the slopes of the mountain. He had not been troubled by the low pressure of the mountain, since it was a bit higher than that of the Archives. Besides, Patrick and Helena would constantly scold him when he took out a cigarette.

It was a small, black car, with tinted windows and with a high capacity for speed. His employer was in the backseat, sitting cross-legged and working on a laptop. Mr. Gray had combed his pale hair back and wore huge sunglasses, as well as putting on a baseball cap. The headgear looked odd on his tailored black jacket, jeans and loafers.

Suddenly, Chartrand's phone rang, and it was quite loud. "Sir, I'll just receive a call. May I pull over for a while," he told Mr. Gray, who just grinned and said, "Go ahead. This errand isn't very urgent, anyway." Chartrand stopped near an aspen tree and looked at the contact. _Angela…Bella Angela Moretti._

He spoke in heavily-accented Italian, which Mr. Gray could not understand very well. He preferred to speak in English. "Ciao!" he greeted cheerfully.

"Johann, l'amore, come lei è? (_Johann, love, how are you?)_" It was great to hear her speak.

"Sto bene. Il "Padre" l'ha aiutato insinua qualche chiamate (_I'm alright. Did "Father" help you sneak a few calls_)?" Chartrand asked, almost laughing.

"Sì, è abbastanza piacevole di lui. (_Yes, it's quite nice of him_)," Bella's voice was music to Chartrand's ears.

"Dalla maniera, come Feliz è? (_By the way, how's Feliz_ (Helena's dog)?)"

"Rumoroso, il divertimento. .. ed attivo come al solito. (_Noisy, fun... and active as usual_.)"

"Grande, poi. (_Great, then._)"

"Mi ha detto che Fiume e Scacchi ricercano ora la casa per la prova. Fermarlo per finché lei può. (_He (Marino) told me that River (Helena) and Chess (Patrick) are now searching the house for evidence. Stall him for as long as you can.)_" Bella said, almost in a whisper.

"Molto bene, poi. (_Very well, then_.)" He replied, conscious of the time.

"Amarla (_I love you_)." She said as parting words.

"Amarla anche (_I love you too_)." Chartrand hung up and kept his phone. He drove on; his employer was nonchalantly typing away on the laptop, not minding the sudden movement. "Johann, who was that?" Chartrand blushed, and Mr. Gray could see it from the rearview mirror. "My girlfriend, sir," his chauffer replied.

Mr. Gray gave a chuckle and shook his head. "Just keep going." Chartrand drove on until they reached Genoa. Once Mr. Gray saw a grocery store, he asked his driver to stop there. "Wait here," he told "Johann".

The moment his employer was out, Chartrand took out his phone and called up Patrick. "In the pines, in the pines, where the sun don't ever shine," Patrick greeted Chartrand with a full, rich voice. They conversed in Italian.

"The boss is in a grocery store, so you guys better hurry. I'll try to stall him, though." "There's still no paper here on what material he will use, so I'm researching on explosives. Helena told me that she's having a hard time since the boss's room has four security cameras," Patrick said, frowning.

"Okay. I hope I can buy you two some time. Take care, Chess." Chartrand said. "You too, Evergreen…" Patrick hung up immediately. Chartrand took the cellphone in his pocket and used the hidden camera to zoom in and see what his boss was buying.

He was buying…"_**HAIR DYE**_?!" he cried, as he stopped recording and sent it to Helena, Patrick, Karl, Commissioner Marino and Commander Laguardia. He immediately received a response from Karl, and it read: "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! No wonder I have no idea what he really looks like!"

_Why on Earth would he want hair dye?!_ He immediately sent Patrick a message. "What does he really look like?" "The way he is now…blonde, gray-eyed and pale…with gold-mounted specs. He won't escape me. I know what he looks like. But still, I saw the color of the dye…he was planning to dye his hair black." Patrick replied.

"Really?! I didn't see that! It _**is **_black!" Chartrand sent that last reply to Patrick. He turned off the engine of the car and waited outside. Thankfully, he fought off the laughter. He received a reply from Helena. "If you send me another video like that, I promise not to scold you about smoking for a week."

"I won't bet on that. There will always be your boyfriend to scold me," he replied. He received a message from Commander Laguardia. "Goodness gracious! Wait until His Holiness hears about this." "It's better if we don't tell His Holiness…we might give him a heart attack," Chartrand replied.

The last message came from Commissioner Marino. "Mentally scarred, thanks to you." "I didn't mean it!" Chartrand replied. He saw his employer paying at the counter already, so he kept his phone. He whistled innocently to waste time.

* * *

Patrick had finished dusting and fixing the books. He had also researched on explosive materials, keeping the pages away from the sight of the security cameras. He stowed away the books upon receiving a message from Chartrand. When he opened the door of the library, who should greet him but Mr. Gray!

"Why, Christian, I just did a short errand and you're already done fixing the library?" Mr. Gray asked in surprise. "I once worked in a bookshop, sir." Patrick replied, his smile worth a million dollars. "Come, sit with me awhile…was Montresor really guilty in the end?" his employer asked, sitting with him.

"No, sir…he was a cold murderer. The pseudo-guilt was just because of the catacombs."

"What does the cold have to do with guilt?" Mr. Gray asked. "When you are forgiven, it is a warm, light feeling which is your refuge from the cold that is your guilt…" Patrick replied. "I'm sorry; I don't believe in forgiveness, Christian." Mr. Gray said, his features dark.

"That is just an interpretation, sir. Stories were not just written to express the writer's thoughts. They were also written to awaken minds and let them create their own stories." Patrick closed the book and put it back on the shelf. "Well-said…I must go now, Christian. You may stay if you wish, but you're better off with your companions." Mr. Gray left, making Patrick scurry to the metal bolt on the floor.

Gray walked down the corridors of his mansion, his thoughts not within the chandelier-decked rooms and torch-lit halls of his manor. _He seems so familiar…a meek, witty soul with natural eloquence. The light streaming from the library window makes him more divine than human. Good grief, what is wrong with me? Don't tell me I'm…_

He entered the door of his room, finding Helena there. "Oh, Victoria…no need to polish it to the point of seeing your face on the floor," he told her. She was kneeling on the floor, wiping out the last stain on the floor.

She looked up and said, "Why? Am I that ugly that your floor would just swallow me whole?" "If you don't take off your glasses, it will," he said. "Then, the tiles under your feet should crack any minute now." She said, grinning. Mr. Gray just had to grin at her strong, undaunted stand.

_And this one, I could sense that she is feisty. She is a perfectionist, with an attitude. I know that without those glasses and tied hair; I'd see Helen of Troy's match. I've never looked at any woman the same way before, with the exception of that meddling symbologist's female companion…_

She stood up, brushing a stray lock of wavy hair aside. "Sir, are you alright? You seem to be in deep thought." Mr. Gray shook his head and lied, "I'm not feeling too well. Do I have a fever or something?" He suddenly grabbed Helena's silken hand. He relished the softness of her tapered fingers touching his throat, bent in awkward angles.

"No, sir…you don't," Helena said, her face slightly red. He slowly let go of her hand. "I just need to lie down…you may go." Mr. Gray dismissed her. As she went out the door, he watched her go out. Once she was out of sight, he locked the door and called for another maid. She helped him dye his hair a glossy black.

* * *

It was their first Sunday in Mr. Gray's manor. For their good behavior and efficiency, Patrick, Helena and Chartrand were allowed to have some free time from 12:00-6:00 PM, but with a catch. "A minute too late, and you will be cleaning the stables." Sergeant Haber wanted to go with them but he was busy with another engagement, leaving the three to while the time away after going to Mass.

They found a deserted beach with an old boardwalk. Helena and Patrick were strolling along, while Chartrand was running while wearing goggles. "Chartrand, we know you want to see the dolphins but the water's--" Patrick said, but he was too late. The lieutenant just did a cannonball into the water. It was already around 9 feet there, alright for low dives.

"Cold? Not really!" Chartrand yelled, as he surfaced. "Don't go too far!" Helena called after him, as he went in search of cetaceans. "That leaves the two of us here." Patrick said, sitting at the edge of the boardwalk.

_Even in a plain white shirt and board shorts…heck, even a garbage bag would do!_ Helena thought, sitting beside him. She was wearing a white-and-black striped tank top under an off-shoulder Bohemian tunic and short pants. "He's really having the time of his life out there…" Patrick remarked, looking at Chartrand, who was waving to them as he chased a playful dolphin.

"Maybe we should go into the water…" Helena offered, stretching out her blue sarong in order to cover their heads. "If he's having fun, then we might as well do so," Patrick replied, as she folded the sarong neatly and placed it on the boardwalk together with her tunic and slippers. "Won't that hurt your--" Helena was stopped by a winking blue eye.

"It's been almost a year…I'll be fine. I won't take off my shirt, so that you'd be spared from seeing something horrible." "I already saw it when I took you to the hospital…but for your sake, yes, keep your shirt on," she said, slightly shuddering as she stood up. He stood up and faced the sea, the breeze playing with his hair.

Without warning, he was not on the boardwalk any more. He made a small splash in the water and bobbed his head, wet hair sticking to his forehead. "Come in, the water's fine…and it doesn't hurt! Well…it does hurt the eyes a bit." Patrick called out to her. _Here goes nothing…_

She ran off the boardwalk with two pairs of goggles in each zipper-sealed pocket and closed her eyes the moment she felt the water wash over her. When she came up to breathe, she found herself face-to-face with Patrick. "The last time I went swimming was…I don't know…three years ago?" Helena said.

"When His Holiness and I were in Gandolfo, he'd always have trouble calling me out of the lake." Patrick said, smiling. "And what would you do in the lake?" Helena implored, clinging a bit to him. "Sometimes, I swim in the shallow parts…but on other days, I would row a boat to the middle of the lake and sleep the whole afternoon. When I wake up, I'd find a search party on shore," he said.

"And of course, His Holiness would tell you not to take your shirt off." Helena said, smirking as a few small waves came near them. "I disobeyed him once…and that was enough. I had to drag the boat to shore because it was too shallow to keep going. I tied it to a tree, and then I took off my shirt. If I didn't, I would get sick. There was a strong, cold breeze from the lake," he narrated.

_Here comes the fun part, I guess._ "I was wringing the water out of my shirt and some maid was there. She was actually sent by His Holiness to call me back to the villa. Probably because they knew that it would be a cold nightfall, she had a cup of hot chocolate in her hands. The moment she saw me, she dropped the cup and ran back inside. She didn't make it to my father's office, though. She fainted on the way…and I received a one-hour sermon about modesty and decency."

They swam to a deeper part, just a few meters away from Chartrand, who was still trying to look for a dolphin to ogle at. "Could I have a pair of goggles? The salt water's hurting my eyes." Patrick said, blinking. "Maybe later…close your eyes for a while…it won't hurt." Helena said.

As soon as Patrick closed his eyes, he sunk into the water. He could not fight the object that pushed him down. Before his mouth could open, a soft pair of lips was pressing down on him. _What the…is Chartrand watching?!_

Trying to take a peek, he braved the pain of seawater in his eyes. He saw a blanket of black curls enveloping him. _Oh…so this is how you play? Quite unfair._ Of course, he was enjoying the kiss, but he wanted to get back at her for jumping on him. He pretended to relent, much to her enjoyment. When she thought she had him completely off-guard, he pushed the water with his legs and 'jumped' on her playfully.

To make sure that things wouldn't hurt, he brought the both of them to the surface. Patrick and Helena were gasping for air. "You didn't even give me the chance to breathe!" Patrick complained, but with a smile. "Don't lie to me. I know you enjoyed it," she said, her eyes smoldering, even in goggles.

"Alright, I'll admit it…oww! Something poked my leg. Now, may I have a pair of goggles?" Helena reached into one of her zipped pockets and gave him a pair. Patrick didn't need to go down to see what poked his leg. Seeing a gray fin in the water and hearing high-pitched noises, Patrick could only call out, "CHARTRAND!"

The gloomy, blonde-haired Swiss Guard's ears perked up upon hearing his name. He looked behind him and saw an agile, intelligent creature jumping from and into the water in a perfect arc. He wasted no time in swimming towards his two companions.

Patrick and Helena looked at the dolphin, which seemed to be waiting for Chartrand. The moment it saw the officer's pale hair against the blue waters, the dolphin went back into the water and caught Chartrand. He held on to its fin and he was rushing through the waters at breakneck speed.

Helena pointed to two dolphins somersaulting towards them. A big splash came from both marine creatures and they allowed the former priest and the police officer to ride them. They were soon racing against Chartrand, who seemed to be having the time of his life.

"It's great to have wildlife reserves…at least we could still enjoy these simple things. God forbid that these wonderful creatures be wiped out…" Patrick said, as the riding stopped and the dolphin looked at him, shrieking and clapping its fins. Helena let out a shriek when the other one seemed to hammer her backside and surfaced with what seemed to be a cheeky grin.

Patrick gave both of them a salute and the dolphins propelled themselves above the water using their tails as rudders. They gave whistles before leaving their human playmates. "I think I'm going to name that one…Pokey." Helena said, pointing to the faster one. "I'll name the other one…Len." Patrick said, putting his finger to his salty lips.

"Bella calls me that all the time…speaking of which…where's Chartrand!?" Helena was alarmed. "There he is…saying goodbye to his new friend." Patrick pointed to somewhere further. "Oh, alright. Let's wait for him at the shore." Helena went to the boardwalk when they reached the shore. She took her slippers and her sarong then sat beside Patrick as they waited for Chartrand.

She laid the sarong in the sand and dried herself with a towel. "That was tiring…" she said, her voice barely a whisper. "I know…let's grab a few winks. Chartrand will wake us up anyway." Patrick said, yawning as he dried himself. "Gladly," Helena said, lying beside him. His eyes were still bright and inviting even if he was tired and lying on a damp towel. With a sleepy smile and Patrick singing a familiar tune, Helena fell asleep in no time.

* * *

Chartrand was wondering why he was not called by his companions so he swam to shore after sadly looking at the cetaceans swimming into the deep. When he stepped on dry land, he was surprised to see his companions sleeping, but he was amused to see them in such a situation.

He took Helena's camera out of her bag and took pictures of the sleeping couple. _I'm sending this to Commissioner Marino, Commander Laguardia and Bella!_ He joked. He sat in the sand after playing paparazzi, drying himself with another towel. He looked at the two, in a tight embrace. Chartrand felt a pang of jealousy. He wished that Bella was there with him.

He took out his phone to call her, but he saw the time. _5:20…oh no._ He shook Patrick awake. "We have only 40 minutes to go…or else we're going to clean the stables!" Patrick's bright blue eyes shot open. "It's 5:20!" Chartrand yelled. "Helena, wake up." Patrick said, his voice lacking urgency.

"Hmmm…is it nightfall already?" she asked, her voice low. "No…but we have 40 minutes before Mr. Gray asks us to clean the stables." Patrick replied, his voice still without any panic. The moment he said that, Helena was up. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go!" she said, gathering all their stuff immediately and slipping on her flip-flops.

Chartrand gave Patrick a thumbs-up as they walked to the car. Sergeant Haber had allowed them to use his minivan, as long as they wouldn't crash it. Chartrand almost put the vehicle to top speed, especially in the less-traveled mountain roads. They pulled over at one site just to wear dry clothes and stow away their damp, salty ones.

Because of the few travelers in the road and the clear view of the roads, they were able to make it. When they came out of the car, Mr. Gray was in front of the fountain fronting his manor. His hair was dyed a glossy, slick black. He was holding a gold-plated pocket watch.

"Impressive. You came back at exactly 6:00. I did say that I'd spare you from the stables…however, it is not possible. Almost everyone else left for Mass. I'm sorry to say that you three would have to take care of the horses. The stables are actually clean but the horses haven't been fed. Everything you need is there already. Enjoy!" Mr. Gray closed the watch and headed back to the mansion, his black trenchcoat flying in the breeze.

"I wish we hung around a bit more…if we just knew that we'd clean the stables whether we're early or late." Chartrand muttered. "It's alright…let's just horse around and probably tell stories while we're at it." Helena said.

Let's just go and feed them some hay before we hit our own hay later," Patrick said. "Just make sure we don't embarrass each other..." Helena said. "I remember when _Christian_ was eating pistachio ice cream in an inappropriate place." Chartrand said.

Helena scanned the stables for any cameras but she found none. They enjoyed putting some hay into the mangers and petting the affection-starved equines. Of course, the stories made the cool night air somehow warmer with laughter. "Seriously, he was eating pistachio ice cream in his father's office? No wonder that's what he ordered when we went out." Helena said, making Patrick blush.

"You should have seen him! Wearing that fine black robe…sitting in the chair…holding a gallon of pistachio ice cream and eating it while watching television. I wanted to go to therapy after that…but I think he was only binge-eating because of depression. It was…a few hours after the ring-breaking." Chartrand was already laughing out loud.

"Well, yes…and I was watching Fairly OddParents." Helena and Chartrand almost fell in the mangers. Patrick just shrugged and laughed along with them. He told them one of those anecdotes of his youth.

_He was a lively, charming, eight year-old. His father's room was filled with books about faith and science and he stayed there when the archbishop was on duty or having other tasks. The archbishop was supposed to be back at the monastery at around 7 in the evening._

_Patrick spent the whole day reading and wandering around the monastery. Seven o' clock passed, dinner came, and his "father" was still away from the place he considered home. Having nothing to do, he went into the kitchen and saw one of the monks cringing. He was holding a cup of something unusual._

"_Brother, what's that?" Patrick asked. "Pistachio ice cream…my mother sent it to me. She probably forgot that I was lactose intolerant. Here, Patrick, you can have it. I'm sure you'd enjoy it more than I would," the monk smiled, giving Patrick the small cup and a spoon._

"_Thank you." Patrick said, running back to the room. The monk shook his head, smiling._

_Patrick looked at the cup of ice cream carefully. "It wouldn't hurt to taste…" he thought, taking off the lid as he sat on the floor. The television was open, showing some cartoons. Scooping a huge heap, Patrick put the frozen treat in his mouth. His eyes turned into saucers. "This stuff is pretty good!" he said, eating another scoop._

_Just as he was halfway down the container, the archbishop came. "Hello, father!" he cheerfully greeted. The archbishop saw a brown-haired, blue-eyed boy with stains all over his mouth and shirt. The child was seated on the floor, smiling. "Why, look at you." The archbishop took out a handkerchief and cleaned Patrick's face._

"_Where did you get the ice cream?" the archbishop asked. "Brother Luke's mother sent him this…but he's lactose intolerant…so he couldn't eat it. He gave it to me." Patrick answered. "By the look of it, you seem to really like it." Patrick beamed up in reply._

"_Alright…go and finish that, but please, wipe your mouth, son. You looked like you used your ice cream as shaving cream." The archbishop said, with his future camerlengo smiling widely._

Helena and Chartrand created a mental image of an eight year-old Patrick with ice cream all over his face. "If I saw you when you were a kid, I might have pinched your cheeks until they were the color of a tomato." Helena remarked. "Well, I was a bit chubby." Patrick said.

"Until you became a priest and walked probably 5 kilometers a day wandering the grounds," Chartrand said softly, stroking the mane of a horse which was white all over.

"How did you get addicted to cigarettes, anyway?" Helena asked. "My grandmother had these huge cigars and I always saw her smoking them. Then my father smoked cigarettes. I guess I was pretty curious and lit up a stick when I was 10. I was coughing the whole night because of that. I resolved never to touch them but I guess the nicotine got into my system and I longed for that stuff. It's hard giving up smoking. You guys are lucky to never have touched that stuff." Chartrand said.

"Do you remember when Bella took us all to a club on my birthday?" Patrick asked, a stifled laugh forming on his lips. "I couldn't even remember what happened that night." Chartrand said. "You called Patrick 'Patricia' and you almost smoked a cigarette while drunk." Helena said, as a black stallion neighed.

"I think I had three beers that night…" Chartrand said, quite embarrassed. "You were as red as a beet and we had to sober you up before taking you back to the barracks." Patrick said, smiling, "Cheer up, the first time I took Mass wine, my father said that I had a hangover. Mass wine is supposed to be alcoholic."

"That must have been a sight to see." Helena teased. "How about you? What's your story?" Chartrand asked as they put in the last of the hay and dried the wet manes of the horses. "When I first came to Rome, I was already in my police uniform and my first patrol was in Piazza Navona." Helena said, turning her eyes away.

_It was an unlikely sight in Piazza Navona to see a police officer who could have passed off for a model. Tall, with raven waves and long lashes framing her dark eyes, she was bound to set some hearts afire. While Helena was walking on the cobblestones, a tall, burly, tanned middle-aged man grabbed her by the waist and drew her near him._

"_Oh, you naughty, naughty girl…I've been looking all over for you! I almost didn't recognize you because of your wavy hair. I thought we were supposed to be in my flat. You even wore a police uniform! I must say you do look good in it," he said in English. His breath reeked of alcohol._

"_Who the heck are you? I'm not your girlfriend…or whatever!" Helena said, as people looked at her strangely. "Oh, yes you are, Alessandra." He said. "Look, sir, I'm a police officer, not your partner. Please, let go of me. I do not have a boyfriend and my name is not Alessandra. It's Helena," she said._

"_Oh, so you're playing hard-to-get, mi bella?" he said. Helena struggled to get away from him, but luckily, a voice from afar prompted the man to let go of her. "Marco! You bastard! What are you doing?" the woman seemed as tall as Helena because of her sky-high heels. She had straight black hair, bright brown eyes and pouty lips. She was wearing a short halter dress which accentuated her curves._

"_Huh? I thought…" before he could say another word, the woman slapped him with her huge handbag. "You should stop drinking too much!" Alessandra said angrily. She turned to Helena and said, "I'm so sorry for the inconvenience, officer. He's had too much to drink…and he has a fetish for police uniforms. I'm really sorry." "It's alright; I wasn't hurt." Helena looked away as the woman took the man home._

_The tourists shook their heads and went about their business. Helena was still traumatized by the disgusting things that the man said in her ear. "I need brain bleach…" she muttered._

"Had I seen that idiot, I might have sent him flying to the Colosseum." Patrick said, "_Nobody_ molests and disrespects my beloved." "Especially with the way you look now, I think you might turn him gay." Helena said. "Well, we're done…let's go back to the house." Chartrand said.

"Good. I need a shower. I smell like salt and horses…and I don't like it." Patrick said, wrinkling his nose. "We all do. Last one to the room is the last to use the shower." Chartrand said, running.

* * *

"Sir…the calculations page of the supposed explosive device also had an instruction where it should be placed. The writing was just too small to be seen by the naked eye," an intelligence employee said to Commander Laguardia. "Where is it to be placed?" the superior asked.

"In the Niche of the Palliums, sir…"

* * *

A fresh, clean Patrick lay on his bed. He was playing around with a small plush doll of Cosmo. Chartrand saw him with the dim-witted fairy. "Releasing the inner child, _signore_?" he asked. Helena slapped her head theatrically.

"No…reminiscing." Patrick answered. "Who gave you that?" she asked.

"My father knew how much I liked the show. He gave it to me as a birthday gift and Signor Saverio (Cardinal Mortati/His Holiness)… helped him pick." Patrick answered.

That reply almost scarred his companions' minds. _I have to ask His Holiness when we come back._ Helena thought.

* * *

(Take note that when speaking of "father" (not the capitalized one, because that's a codename), we really mean Patrick's dad, a.k.a. the one he killed.)

This chapter is in the threshold of rated T and rated M but there _will_ be a chapter here rated M. No, I will not take away our dear camerlengo's purity.

I hope you guys heeded my warnings for this chapter. Also, don't handle any fireworks. It makes fanfiction writing (and reading) difficult. Be safe; have fun. Happy New Year, everyone!

Thank you for all your support. 2009 had been a great year for me in the area of writing (both the school paper and fanfiction). Have a blessed 2010!

[12-31-09]

-TDYSG


	7. Chocolate Boxes

I'm sorry for the late update and there might be some late updates to come. January would be one of the jampacked months which would end with me tired, lost and probably losing inspiration. Keep your criticism and comments coming because they can push me further.

Disclaimers apply, as usual, but please be wary of literary allusions.

* * *

Chapter 7: Chocolate Boxes

_She was standing on the edge of an ancient building, around 160 feet from the ground. Brown eyes looked at the city below, lit by a myriad of bulbs. Black hair flew in the cool spring breeze. She was wearing the same thing from head to toe: a white blouse with a deep neckline over a strapless striped dress and flats._

_He was wondering why they were there again, on that thousand-year-old arena. She even slipped from a ledge but he was there to catch her. The silly girl promised never to stand on ledges alone ever again but here she was, on the highest point of the Colosseum, looking out with amazement and wonder._

"_Come back here…you might slip…again…and trust me, this is higher than the last ledge you slipped from," Patrick said, holding out a hand, beckoning her to come. "Make me." She said. Patrick shook his head, smiling. "Aren't you afraid of falling?" he asked. "I said that I'd only stand on high places when you're with me. Come on, you're here." She replied._

_He had to think of a better way to lure her back to safety. Whatever he had in mind was a risky thing to say to a woman but he decided to say it anyway. "So, you'd rather look at a city you've lived in for 10 years than come to someone who hasn't seen much of you in six months," he said, with a smug grin._

"_What do I get if I come to you?" she said, wrapping her arms around herself as she faced him. "Take seven steps forward and you'll find out…" he said. She walked with a natural, carefree grace. On the seventh step, he unzipped the black cardigan he wore and removed it._

_He draped it on her. She gave a short sigh as the fabric touched her shoulders. The cardigan was strangely comfortable, probably because of its owner's heat clinging to it. "Thank you," she said, "but, how about you?" "I'll be alright. To be honest, I don't feel anything." Patrick said._

_Even though he had tried to avoid it, he walked with her towards the ledge. There seemed to be something that needed to happen on that dangerous edge and when she gave him back the jacket, his suspicions were confirmed. "Helena, come on…I don't want to put you in danger. Let's go." He waited. She stayed in the spot, hypnotized._

_Regaining her senses, Helena took a step but something rolled under her foot. Pushed to the edge, with no floor to catch her foot, she began her descent._

_He had no time to think. Nobody would be there to hear him. He couldn't see any tourists…it was already past midnight. His phone was out of the question. In a surge of fear and adrenaline, he jumped off the ledge, using his cardigan as an unsure parachute. He caught up with her and locked his hand with hers. Even in the panic, he could see that they were still more than 100 feet from the ground. He gave her another end of his jacket._

"_Didn't I tell you to come with me?" he said, almost roaring with rage. His expression softened. "It's useless to spend my last minutes bickering with you…" "We won't die, Patrick…now shut up and kiss me." Helena said, pressing her lips to his as they held the fabric over their heads. There was darkness. This was probably the death of them._

And then, there was a loud thud…

Helena bolted upright, instinctively taking an object which was within her reach. It turned out to be a pillow. "_Ano 'yun?!_ (What was that?!)" She asked in her native tongue, rubbing her brown eyes. Chartrand woke up and looked at the digital clock in their room. It was just 1:35 in the morning.

"He's not in his bed…" Chartrand remarked, looking at Patrick's bed. Helena looked at the other side of his bed. "Right… and he took the pillow with him." Helena said. "Must be a nightmare," Chartrand said. He was asleep soon after.

Helena sighed. She shook him and he opened his eyes. "We're not in a hospital, right?" he asked. "No, we are not. You're still with me and _Chartrand_. Are you alright?" she whispered as she helped him get back to bed.

"I don't think so. It was a weird dream." Patrick said, rubbing his left arm, which had taken the impact of the fall. "Can you move your arms? Anything broken?" she asked. "No, I'm physically fine." He said. "What did your head conjure this time?" Helena asked. "You fell from the top of the Colosseum and I jumped just to follow you. We kissed in mid-flight with my jacket as a parachute…and then…it went black. I thought I was dead." He said, rubbing his temples.

"No, you're very much alive. Go back to sleep." Helena said, brushing her hand on his cheek. "Promise me you won't jump off ledges." Patrick said, smiling. "There aren't any decent ledges for me to jump from." She replied.

He lay down on the bed and looked at her. She was still sitting there. "How about you? Won't you go back to sleep?" Patrick asked her. "I will. I just want to make sure you won't be falling off the bed again," she replied. "Stupid security camera…" she said softly, walking to it and "accidentally" leaving a face towel, "thinking" it was a hanger.

She sat back on his bed and he suddenly pulled her down and hid under the blanket, pulling her with him. "What is it this time?" she asked, as he produced a piece of black paper. "It's blank, Patrick." She said, annoyed. "This came out of a maid's pocket a while ago. She just came out of Mr. Gray's office." He answered.

"Get the penlight," she answered. Patrick dug into his pillowcase and took out a pen with two buttons. One was for a laser pointer and the other was for UV light. He scanned the UV light and his eyebrows furrowed. "As a police officer, is this list suspicious to you?" he asked Helena, giving her the light.

"Acetone and hydrogen peroxide…" she softly read, looking at Patrick with stunned eyes and an instinctive sign of the cross. "These materials, when mixed with sulfuric acid can create a highly-explosive substance. It's popular with terrorists because it can't be detected by scanners…and producing it is easy. The raw materials are pretty much available anywhere." She said.

"No wonder he only showed the numbers and no chemical formulas in the calculations paper." Patrick said, reaching for his suitcase and taking out his wallet, where his phone was "sewn" in. He immediately sent a message to Commander Laguardia, Commissioner Marino and Sergeant Haber. He kept the wallet soon enough.

"Great job finding the materials…but now that we know these are powerful explosives, we have to keep watch more closely. He could start transporting that bomb any moment." Helena said, still hiding under the blanket. "We already know enough….we just have to wait for the 'go' signal to return to Rome." Patrick said. Helena nodded.

"I should go back to my bed now. For all I know, Mr. Gray might barge in and see us in the same bed. He'd think that something happened and definitely, that's not a good image." Helena said, slipping back to her bed.

"Goodnight, Icky Vicky." Patrick told her. "Goodnight…to the most magnificent bastard on earth." She replied. An evil babysitter's name and a villainous description are not probably the nicest ways to address each other but for them, it was all good fun before sleeping again.

* * *

"Why were the three of us included again?" Helena asked as Chartrand drove them back up the slopes on Sergeant Haber's minivan. Mr. Gray said that it would be the car they'd use for errands which would not include him as passenger. "I was supposed to buy books and you were supposed to buy him fruits, so that it would be an all-in-one errand he sent the three of us together." Patrick answered.

"I hate to admit it but Mr. Gray's being benevolent," Chartrand said, "though he's planning to blow the See into pieces." "He doesn't want to give his employees the impression that he's a mad emperor trying to take over the world." Patrick said, looking out of the window.

"Stop the car. I thought I saw something in the bushes," Patrick said, stilling Chartrand's hand. "_Christian_, for all you know, it may just be a squirrel." Chartrand said. "How could a squirrel make such huge movements in the bushes…and there seems to be a lot of moving bushes." Helena said, looking out the window.

"Do you think Karl has something in the drawer which could help us if anything happens?" Chartrand asked. The front seat drawer could only be opened by a key and it was in Patrick's pocket. He took it out and opened Karl's drawer. They saw three huge metal boxes of chocolate. "Chocolate…how's that going to help?" Helena asked, taking one of the boxes as Patrick gave it to her.

"You never know what you get," she opened the box and sure enough, there was chocolate inside, but only a thin layer dedicated to chocolate-coated almonds. There was something hard underneath and it distracted her from the sweets. "Guys, you won't believe this." Helena said, as the men looked at her.

There was a black box with a lock that needed a combination. Patrick immediately contacted Sergeant Haber through his phone. "Hi, Oatmeal…Chess here. We saw one of your chocolate boxes in the drawer and we saw a black box here needing a combination. If we may ask, what's the combination? By the way, something's moving in the bushes, that's why we think there's something useful in these boxes."

He waited for a reply and they sent messages to each other as Chartrand cruised through, checking if there were odd things in the bushes,

"_The vehicle is bulletproof, I can assure you that. Did anyone of you eat the chocolate?" _

"_No." _

"_Good…inside each of those three boxes are pistols, already with 12 bullets, and a full extra magazine, including another set of ammo. Almonds-5467, hazelnuts-2535, macadamia-9572. Don't eat any of the chocolate…and place the projectile arms back in the boxes."_

"_Thanks."_

"_Don't eat the chocolate. THAT'S AN ORDER. Good luck."_

The boxes were unlocked and stuck to the underside of the box lids were belts and straps to keep the guns. "Do you know how to fire a gun?" Chartrand asked Patrick. "He does…I'll tell you later how he saved me from a sniper when he came back from Greece." Helena said.

They drove slowly for a few minutes. Helena saw metal glimmering from the bushes. Men suddenly jumped from the bushes, carrying handguns, except one who was carrying a rifle. They started shooting; Chartrand kept swerving.

"We have to fight them or they'll chase us. They've got motorbikes…and Mr. Gray would question us why this car's covered in bullet marks." Helena said, unlocking the gun. "Helena and I will handle this." Patrick said as Chartrand nodded.

"The two of you…jump on three. One…two…THREE!" the ex-priest and the officer opened their respective car doors and lay on the road, under the open car door, shooting. There were six men, seemingly gambits of organized crime. Helena started shooting the moment she saw bullet marks trailing towards her.

She did not aim for vital organs; killing was not her priority, just disabling. She took down one by making him drop the gun off to the ravine. The other one was hit on the collarbone.

Patrick also used the same strategy for his disable-the-sniper technique, except with a new addition. He had used the tough gun case as his shield. The gunners seemed pretty interested in him. He went for the shoulder, keeping his hand behind the case after every shot. The rifleman was last on his list. Besides hitting the shoulder, he also aimed for the forearm.

Before letting go of the rifle, the man had fired a grenade but because the pain made him drop it, the grenade did not shoot its intended target: Patrick. It blew up a tree two meters down the ravine. Thinking it was safe, Patrick was on the process of standing up.

"DUCK!" Chartrand suddenly yelled out of the open window. Patrick obeyed and Chartrand fired a bullet. An assailant was hit in the arm. "Thank you!" Patrick said, looking for Helena. Apparently, a pissed-off fugitive who was actually wearing a bulletproof vest tried to dig his boots into her solar plexus. She had stepped aside and put the barrel of her gun to his head, while keeping a vise-like grip on his wrist.

"Can you understand English?" she asked. "Yes…" he said, his voice heavily-accented. "Good. I want you and your cretinous companions to get off this mountain or we will _really_ kill you." Helena said, twisting his arm and kicking him hard, sending him running back.

Patrick was hiding behind a tree and watching out for any suspicious movements as the man went back to his companions. The man wearing a vest curled the fingers of his right hand, and one of his men raised his gun with his unharmed hand. Patrick made a run for it and pressed the man's neck from behind. He ran away and took Helena with him to the backseat.

Chartrand stepped on the pedal and made it through at breakneck speed. They could have been given a speed ticket if they were in the city. "The car just got a few scratches…not really visible since Karl revamped the interior but not the exterior." Patrick said, keeping the guns back in their respective chocolate boxes.

"No wonder I love chocolate." Helena said. "We can't eat them, though. Why shouldn't they be?" Chartrand said, smiling. Patrick sent Sergeant Haber a message and he got a reply immediately. "Listen to this and be warned…" Patrick said before reading the message.

_Only the almonds are the real chocolates. The "hazelnuts" are actually little containers of cyanide while the "macadamia" have little explosives in them. Those explosives can destroy anything within a 5-meter radius. That's why I keep them under lock. Good that you guys are safe._

Chartrand kept back the boxes in the drawer, wary of touching the danger within them. Helena told the story of how she was saved by Patrick's razor-sharp conspiracy-creating-and-decoding mind and his adrenalin-induced ability to shoot people from the ground to the next floor.

The drive was much smoother now, while they tried to dust off their uniforms, hide their scratches and fix their messy hair. "Mr. Gray won't suspect a thing." Patrick said, as they drew near to the manor. Helena fiddled with her eyeglasses, which had virtually no ability to magnify and sharpen the images her eyes saw.

Going down the old automobile, nobody greeted them. They entered the manor through a backdoor. Patrick immediately included the books in his database while Helena put the fruits in an antique ceramic bowl in Mr. Gray's bedroom.

The master's den was the epitome of luxury, with off-white walls being a stark difference to the vibrant floor, filled with sprawling Persian carpets. A giant four-poster bed was under a chandelier lit by actual candles and not bulbs. Only the finest wood comprised the furnishings. The window gave a spectacular vista, with heavy purple brocade curtains pulled to the sides. No technology was in sight, except for the slyly-designed air-conditioning and vents which were almost unseen.

Helena could not help but allow her eyes to look at the paintings on the wall and all the finery of the room. A sweet smell suddenly filled the air and she found herself suddenly losing herself to darkness. A pair of pale arms decorated by well-folded sleeves caught her before she could crash to the floor.

"Is it alright to come out now?" a hushed voice asked, undoubtedly female. "Yes…and I want the creation sent to me tomorrow, at 5 in the afternoon," a hollow voice returned. "Any other specifications?" she asked. "It has to be the brightest hue of blood…" he propped her up, like a puppet.

The woman came near, a white object snaking around her forearm. "She is rare…like a diamond." She said, studying the sleeping creature. The white object came off her arm, encircling the unconscious Helena. It only took a short while.

"Thank you for coming…I expect _it_ tomorrow…" the hollow voice resounded. "You can count on it…" she disappeared as he laid her on the carpeted floor and took out a cotton ball and a vial of pungent liquid. He dabbed the cotton in the liquid and put it near her nose, just so that she could sniff the disgusting scent.

Her eyelids started moving; he disappeared into the shadows. Disoriented and with an odd smell surrounding her, she decided to leave the room. _I fainted…am I sick or something? And what's with that smell?_ She thought, staggering through the corridors.

With messy hair and a dazed expression crossing her face, she looked like she came from a drunken stupor. She avoided the other servants, trying to walk as fast as she could to the only place where she couldn't see the others. _I hope you're in there, Patrick._

* * *

Patrick was done with his job, as well as a bit of pleasure reading. When he opened the library door, he was surprised to find a messy-haired maid who just probably woke up. "Is that YOU?" he whispered. "Of course it's me." She said.

"Why do you look like you've been tossed around? Your uniform has more creases than when I last saw it." Patrick remarked. "I suddenly fainted in his bedroom for some reason and I woke up to the smell of ammonia. I don't know what's with me." Helena answered.

"For one thing, I know you're not sick. Let's go back to the room. Maybe some chemical passed through the air-conditioning. Come on." He held her by the waist and they started walking back to the room. On the way, Mr. Gray spotted them.

"Goodness, Victoria, what happened to you?" he asked, appearing to be genuinely concerned. "I fainted in your room, sir, and I just woke up. I went to him to seek a little help." She answered. "It's good that you didn't hit anything," he said, touching her face, not minding Patrick's presence.

"I guess so," Helena said as he drew his hand away from her. "Excuse me, _signore_, if you don't mind, I have to take her back to our room." Patrick said. "Oh, please do. Rest for a while until you're better. Christian, be with her. Some fresh air would also do her good." Mr. Gray said, walking off.

Reaching the cold basement rooms and their quarters, Patrick allowed Helena to lie on her bed while he stayed on his. "I think you saw the way he held your cheek," Patrick said. "It's creepy…his fingers are so cold." Helena said, shivering, "You shouldn't be jealous. I'm afraid of him; therefore, I cannot love him."

"I'll make sure nothing happens to you…but be wary of the ledges you step on. This is not a dream." Patrick said. To the ordinary listener, it would be a cryptic passage, but to Helena, she knew what it meant. "Let's go outside; the air's much better there," Helena said.

The cool mountain breeze and Patrick's poetic voice turned her back to normal.

Chartrand came to join them, also worried about his comrade. "Mr. Gray does seem to take a liking to you. You should be careful," the Swiss Guard told her. "If I were him I wouldn't go after the maid," Helena asked, laughing at the premise. "Not if she were the feisty Spanish lady who seems to be the one dancing the _flamenco_ at a _fiesta_." Patrick said.

"We should also keep an eye on them," Chartrand said. "Yes, we should be up in arms to protect our _Dulcinea_, right, Sancho?" Patrick said, winking. "What?" Chartrand blurted out. "What have you been burying your head in?" Helena said, though she knew the answer.

"I still don't get it." Chartrand bluntly stated. "He's been reading _Don Quixote_ and I think all the chivalry will be stuck in his head for him to believe that he's a knight and that you're his squire, Sancho Panza." Helena said, that book being a part of her required reading during high school.

"And we shall attack windmills, thinking they're giants!" Patrick said, with the triumphant stance of a general. "Oh shut up, papercut…" Helena said, trying not to laugh and miserably failing. "Let us go, master! Teach me your ways and we shall tilt windmills together!" Chartrand said, with a horrible Spanish accent.

_I don't know what I'll do without these two._ "Come on, you two have taken in too much mountain air." Helena said, dragging both of them back into the house. "Are you sure you don't need any more air?" Chartrand asked.

"No. I don't. Both of you are more than enough to knock some sense into me." Helena said, pushing them both to the house. "Are we still going to attack windmills?" Chartrand asked. Helena groaned and Patrick laughed. "Let's do so figuratively. Let's call it a day," he said gently.

"Remember, tomorrow's supposed to be _my_ release." Helena said.

* * *

Carved from the mountain wall was the gray stone tower unseen because of the moss which camouflaged it. The breeze came in, chilling further the already cold, moist stone space. Candles on their Gothic wrought-iron stands were lit by a pale hand holding a burning strip of wood. His golden eyeglasses shone in the dim light.

_Do you know why I had to make you sleep for a while? Your spunk would not allow me to clothe you in the luxury that I want to see. You are fiery, so you shall wear scarlet. Your hair is thick enough for me to take you into my arms yet still so soft that I can run my fingers smoothly._

_You have a cascade of jet falling from your head, in stark contrast to the fair yet bright silk which covers your flesh and bone. You make my blood rise; you draw me closer to you though it is not your aim. I'd rather see you sleeping, for you cannot fight me, but your energy bursts when your brown eyes are open. Do not deny it; you have set my heart on fire._

_I cannot blame you but I must point to you when asked why I have fallen into this trap. I was brought an accidental temptress, not a maid. Bend to my will and together we will share this glorious household. What is mine will also be yours only if you will give your obeisance. I must whisk you away. I know that your friends protect you the way they would do to their little sisters but you are worth letting go._

_Tomorrow night when you come to me, you will be the star of that night, a queen. More specifically, you will be MY queen. If you have pledged your heart to another, break that pledge. Whoever he is, he cannot compare to who I am and what I can give. All that I crave for will be satisfied._

_No one will stop me from making you mine and only mine. Just like a jewel in the Mediterranean, only one may control you. Only I will be your master but to tame you would be putting my hand in a lion's mouth…but you will bend, I tell you. Your name among names I cannot refuse…_

_So close to the name of that intelligent physicist…Vittoria. Both with five letter-surnames and eight letter-names…only one letter in your name separates you from her. Both smoldering, both strong…one of them is pure Italian, the other a Eurasian._

_I think I have seen you somewhere before, but not in the Castle of Angels in Rome. You're not a hundred year-old statue pointing to secret passageways. You fell from heaven…_

_Victoria Ojeda…_

In the middle of Gray's staring at the crashing waves, a man knocked. "Sir, when will I bring her to you?" "She must be the polished diamond I expect…at…9 in the evening...tonight." Mr. Gray said, facing the man. "And sir..." "Yes?"

"Mr. Hirsch is here," his stable-keeper said. "Anselm Hirsch?" Mr. Gray asked. "Yes, sir." Mr. Gray immediately locked his sanctuary and went to his office to usher in the waiting Anselm Hirsch.

* * *

Seated in Mr. Gray's office, Karl was thinking of how to pull off the escape for Helena. The situation was prepared and small talk would be done first. As the pale-haired employer came into his office and sat on his chair, Karl cleared his throat.

"It's nice to meet you again, Anselm." Mr. Gray said, shaking the Sergeant's hand with cold fingers. "Same here, Monsieur," Karl said, "So, how are my three wards?" "You brought me workers who are efficient, never-complaining and well, quirky in some ways. But…Mr. Hirsch, I am sure that you did not come here just to ask how well they are doing." Mr. Gray said.

"True…it has something to do with _Victoria_…and if it would be alright with you, sir, to have her here in your office, please do so." Karl said, almost slipping when he said the name. "Very well, then." A few presses of his phone and Helena was down in his office.

"Mr. Hirsch, it's great to see you again." Helena said, sitting down on a chair. "I'm afraid, Victoria, that it would not be a good day for you," he said, taking out an envelope, "I'm sorry, Vicky." Helena seemed to tremble when she turned the flap of the envelope and read the letter. Written in Filipino, the letter would not be understood by Mr. Gray.

She did not cry, but grief wracked her face. Her eyes were forcing back the tears forming at the sides. "No…this can't happen. Why didn't they tell me that he was in a coma and had only a month to live? Then that's when they tell me to come home?" she said, almost screaming.

"I should be home at the fastest possible time…" Helena said. "Sir, will you allow her to go home tonight and catch the next flight to Manila?" Sergeant Haber asked. _Tonight? No…definitely not._ "Tonight, she cannot, but first thing in the morning tomorrow, she may. Her grief may cause her to act irrationally." Mr. Gray said, trying to keep a straight face.

"Alright, tomorrow morning," Helena said, barely heard. "Mr. Hirsch, discuss this with Miss Ojeda outside." Mr. Gray told them. Karl took Helena by the hand and helped her get out of the office. "Tomorrow?! I should be home tonight…" Helena said in a low, soft yet indignant tone. "We cannot do anything about it. We'll have to follow." Sergeant Haber said, the moment they were outside.

Left alone in his dark office, Mr. Gray thought. _No, Victoria…not until midnight. Tonight, you are mine and mine alone._

* * *

I don't know if Mr. Gray's thoughts creeped you out for some reason, but I'm hoping they did. If you don't understand, the next chapter will bring to life his thoughts and that chapter is rated M for themes of violence, revenge, desire and attempts…you'll know.

-TDYSG


	8. End of the Masquerade

Though I've been through hell, I'm thankful for your reviews and favorites. I'm currently writing with a cold or burnout syndrome, but it won't affect the quality of the story. It's just annoying that your nose is clogged and you get bad headaches which make you think you have a fever.

Disclaimer: I don't own Mr. Gray; I don't own Patrick, either…and the rest of A&D. I also don't claim authorship of a movie, a song from the said movie, some literary classics and stories.

Read with discretion. This is the M chapter. No "act"…but, more on attempts and violence. ____________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 8: End of the Masquerade

_"He told me you're free to go at midnight…" Sergeant Haber told her. "Alright, Anselm…stand by so that I can leave. Good excuse, by the way." Helena said, going to her room. _

She walked slowly, her eyes darting back and forth, looking for potential danger. She was at the door, wondering if her roommates were there. She twisted the knob and pushed it open. Nobody was inside. Apparently, Chartrand had to do an errand and Patrick had to work overtime in the library.

She packed her suitcase and hid everything needed to be hidden. _He won't find anything suspicious._ She thought, jamming everything in a hurry. _I'm finally out of this. Chartrand and Patrick will be safe soon enough. Lord, I'm hoping that all of us would get out alive._

Locking her suitcase, she took a bath for what seemed to be the last time in that house and was in her pajamas. Patrick and Chartrand were not yet around. She then decided to look for them. Stepping out of the door, the hallways were empty.

* * *

Chartrand was looking forward to his soft, yet cold bed after a difficult, time-consuming errand. He was assigned, together with Patrick, for another round of managing the stables. It was not their job but anything Mr. Gray said had to be followed. Patrick had stayed because he was picking a bunch of flowers in the forest. Of course, they were for Helena.

He saw Helena walking in the corridor, her right hand running through her wavy black hair. Her hair was still damp, and she was impatiently going back and forth. He was about to call for her when he hid in a hollow, dark space. He had seen a man go through the corridors, and it was obvious that his intentions were not noble.

He peeked from there, trying to see if Helena was his target. The police officer turned to face the man, sensing his presence. "Do you need anything?" she asked, not actually annoyed. "The master requests your presence. You must come with me," he said, his voice hollow. "I hope he understands the meaning of mourning. If you just knew how close I was to my mother." She said, looking him in the eye.

"I'm sorry, but I am only following orders." He said, grabbing her hand. _If only Patrick were here!_ Chartrand thought. "I'm not coming with you." "Don't make it hard for you, Miss Ojeda," he said. Helena replied with a sharp kick to the groin. He writhed but recovered quicker than she expected. He slammed her to the wall, hitting her and pointing a gun at her forehead.

"I warned you, Miss Ojeda."

"Really? You're not threatening enough. I'm not afraid of guns. I've seen every kind." Helena said, as he caught her by the wrists. "You and your master can take me away but there are things you won't have," she said, with a chilling laugh which made Chartrand shiver in the shadows.

"I should have used this earlier." He said, taking out a small canister. "Coward…Fight me like the real man you think you are." Helena said, digging her nails into his fingers. She said no more as he sprayed a certain gas at her. She fell unconscious in a split-second.

Chartrand's mouth gaped open as the man slung her over his shoulder and took her somewhere. _Damn. How's Haber going to find her?_ He ran off to find Haber as fast as he could, only to find out that he was in Genoa. There was only one person whom he could call for help: _Patrick_. Luckily for him, Patrick was just going towards the room.

"Christian…we need to talk in the room as fast as possible. It's about Victoria!" he said, urgency in his voice. "I know, her mother died and all, Johann, but…" Patrick said, examining the flowers he brought. Chartrand whispered into his ear, "Helena got kidnapped by one of Gray's henchmen. I don't know where he took her."

"Why didn't you save her?!" Patrick asked in a strained whisper, dropping the flowers. "He had a gun. Nobody would have told you if I died saving her." Chartrand said. "It's useless bickering, let's just go and save her." They went to their room and started forming a plan.

Now dressed in a black shirt, dark pants and rugged boots, Patrick was ready to plan a siege. Chartrand was no longer in the high-waisted pants of his uniform, rather, in ordinary clothing. They had the Swiss Guard hack into the manor's camera system and disable the camera in their room. Haber, Olivetti and Laguardia were informed of the incident.

"How do we find her?" Chartrand said. "The only way we can find her is through sound. Looking for her would be too dangerous. We'll have to use alternative paths and make a grand entrance if ever," Patrick said, looking around the room for exits. "Should we bring arms?" Chartrand asked, "Bring at your own risk…" Patrick said. He locked all their suitcases, making sure that nobody would see the contents of their luggage.

Patrick went around the room and looked around the walls. He suddenly saw a ray of light…one that would bring him to Helena. "I have a plan." He said. "What?!" Chartrand said. "Lock the door…yes, even those little metal bars." Patrick said. "You just looked at the walls and you have a plan?!" Chartrand asked, bewildered. "Not really a detailed plan…but it will have to work." Patrick said.

"How do we get there?" "Give me your S-A-K." Patrick said as Chartrand promptly gave him his Swiss Army knife. He climbed the closet and started loosening the screws of the air vent. "Oh…" Chartrand said, looking at the falling screws. _If people knew how good he was in planning, the Mafia might even consider recruiting him._ He stood, amazed by the way his friend worked. Patrick did not look like he was panicking. He was silent, working quickly but quietly. The vent cover came off in no time and was placed on the floor of the vent.

"Hey." Patrick called Chartrand. "Huh?" "Come on. Operation Helena begins now." Patrick said, squeezing into the narrow metal enclosure. "Wait for me!" Chartrand also climbed the cabinet and went into the vent. They covered it and put the screws in reverse.

Stopping for a while, Patrick looked at his partner-in-intelligence and said, "Chartrand, if I don't make it out alive, make sure Helena finds someone suitable for her." Patrick said, leading the way. Chartrand could only nod. "Any requests?" Patrick asked him. "Make sure Bella's alright," the Swiss Guard said.

"If we both don't make it…I'm sure Bella would be more than happy to help," Chartrand said.

* * *

"Oh, dear, stop taking off the pins!" a middle-aged, stout maid told the raven-haired woman who refused to look at the mirror. "I don't want to do this," she said, her voice dark. Her fingers plucked out the pins from her hair and threw them to the floor. "I don't know why my employer wants to do this but we must follow. For all we know, he will not harm you," the stout maid said.

Helena sighed. "Turning me into a porcelain doll…rimmed eyes, intense blush and dark red lipstick…This gown, I don't care how much it costs but I want to rip it into shreds! It's exposing me…This is a sick joke! He wants to feed the flames of his suppressed fetishes!" she said, facing the maid.

"I'm sorry, dear. Victoria, isn't it? My name's Luciana." the maid asked. "I don't need sympathy," Helena snarled. _Poor girl…why would he dare touch her?_ The maid thought, pulling Helena's wavy black hair into a messy ponytail which made her look more of a goddess than a mortal. "It's done…" she said as the woman stood up, her shoes clacking as she walked.

The red gown that she wore trailed to the floor, covering her feet. It was sleeveless with a neckline which did not surpass acceptable boundaries. It was tight, though, secured by various ribbons at the back. It was more corset than dress, except for the long train and its glamorous simplicity.

There was no denying that she was beautiful in that dress, but if the story of the ordeal would reach anyone's ears, she would no longer be a picture of elegance. She would be the symbol of helplessness. No one can save her but herself; however, there was no way out. The only escape is to succumb to her employer's wishes and jump into the darkness.

She looked at the mirror. "This is not the one whom I remember," Helena said, and started walking. Luciana held a red light in front of her as they walked through the candle-lit path towards the master's room.

Two men held the doors. One looked at his watch and held up a palm. _It's not yet time._ They put bound Helena's wrists with ropes, with two ends held by the two guards. She would not be able to escape; she wouldn't dare, anyway.

* * *

He was on his hands and knees, sweating profusely while navigating his way through those warm metal tunnels. Sweat pasted his auburn hair to his forehead; his bright blue eyes were darting back and forth across the narrow passageways.

"Have you found anything?" his blonde, gray-eyed companion asked.

The blue-eyed man looked behind and shook his head. "But I do hear something…so we should follow it." They were moving closer to a sound. It was as if there was an orchestra down there, playing a solemn tango. "I think I've heard that from a movie once." Chartrand said, wiping his brow.

"Really?" Patrick said, crawling quietly to the source of the sound. "All I could remember was a huge nightclub with a red windmill. I forgot the name." Chartrand said, scratching his head. "We have plenty of time to remember which movie the music came from. But for now…look."

Patrick crawled a bit more and lay down on the vent so that he could roll over to face Chartrand. In front of them was the cover of a vent, revealing a room through the spaces. There was no orchestra and there was no visible stereo either. The room was the epitome of luxury, richly furnished, but sparsely lit. Only lamp-like nightlights gave radiance to the room.

"I know now!" Chartrand said. Patrick glared at him. "Keep quiet! They'll hear you!" Patrick said. They were just in time to hear the first line of the song.

_Roxanne…you don't have to put on that red light_

The huge doors of the room suddenly flung open. A red lantern led a tiny procession of a maid, two guards and a woman in red. Her unnaturally fair skin made her glow in the dark room. The maid holding the red lantern stopped upon seeing a formidable figure with pale hair and gray eyes.

_Roxanne…you don't have to wear that dress tonight_

She gave the red light to her master and left the room. The bonds which prevented the lady in red from escaping were removed. She rubbed her wrists because the ropes hurt her hands. The music haunted her, reminiscent of the things she feared. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her in, ready to devour her. No one was left in the room but the master and his servant.

Patrick almost wanted to jump into the room and shoot Mr. Gray, but out of discretion, he did not. "Where did it come from, Chartrand?" "Moulin Rouge…" Chartrand said. "Oh…and that song is?" "El Tango de Roxanne…listen to it, Patrick. He seems to be patterning everything after the song," he said, noticing a similarity.

_His eyes upon your face, his hand upon your hand,_

_His lips caress your skin…it's more than I can stand_

Patrick felt a surge of jealousy enter his veins. _Oh, no you don't._ "Victoria…let me be your lover tonight. All that I have can be yours. Forget your worries and become mine and only mine." Mr. Gray said, staring into her eyes. "The things you have can fade away sooner than you think. I will not be yours though you force me to do so," she replied by slamming him to one of the posts of his bed.

"You're quite…feisty, aren't you? No wonder I chose you to wear that dress." Mr. Gray said, recovering from the blow to the back. "So…that's why I fainted in your room?" Helena asked, angrily. "You deserve the best. Look at you…the kind of beauty I'd preserve in a glass case." He said. "You're sick." Helena said, the tango commencing.

_Why does my heart cry?_

_Feelings I can't fight_

_You're free to leave me_

"Dance with me," Mr. Gray said. "Try and get me to cooperate," she replied, "Remember…it takes two to tango." He chuckled, "Of course, as long as I _want_ you to cooperate, YOU will," he held a gun to her head. "How many times do I have to tell everyone that I'm not afraid of guns cocked at my head?" Helena asked, twisting his wrist and throwing the gun to the floor.

_But just don't deceive me_

"You're pushing your luck too far," Mr. Gray said, pushing her unto the bed. "I'm sorry. I'm just very lucky tonight," she said, not trying to stand up. "Do you really want me to torture you? Make you bleed until you scream my name and ask me to stop?" Mr. Gray threatened, crawling to her.

_Believe me when I say I love you…_

"I don't bend to people like you," Helena said, before pushing him off with a kick to the chest. To her surprise, his hand caught her foot. She was wearing red shoes, with heels enough to kill someone when driven like a nail. "No, no, no, Victoria," he said, throwing her shoes off and pulling her back up. Helena maintained a straight face as he forced her to dance with him.

Patrick and Chartrand were still watching from within the vents, waiting for the best time to strike. "Chartrand…if this will not pain you, please do me a favor," Patrick said, his voice low. "Anything, Patrick…" Chartrand said.

"Get out of here and wait somewhere near Mr. Gray's room. If ever Helena leaves, help her escape. I'll make sure she'll be out of this place. Give me your gun and let me face the demons of my past." Patrick said, always the apparent mythical hero. "But…what if you…" Chartrand asked, apprehensively holding the firearm.

"_Basta…_this is my fight. I don't want to drag any of you in it. If something happens to me, tell Helena that this was for her because I wanted to save her…and this was for me because I wanted to face the final consequence of my actions." Patrick said. Chartrand's fingers shook as he gave the gun to Patrick. "Let angels guide you on your lofty quest." He said, nodding to his superior.

Impossible as it may seem in the narrow space, Chartrand tried to embrace his companion. "Thank you, Chartrand. May you live to see the sunlight," Patrick said, also taking the gun's thigh strap and letting his leg hold the gun for a while. He watched as Chartrand left.

As he looked down at his former hitman and his girlfriend, the sight he came upon was already the last straw. He had started unscrewing the cover of the air vent. Mr. Gray kissed her and tried to force his tongue into her mouth. Helena slapped his cheek, causing him to have a bright red left cheek and spat on his face. "How dare you spit on me!" Mr. Gray was becoming impatient. He pushed her, making her fall to the floor. She tried to crawl away, but her voluminous dress was making it hard.

He straddled her, trying to fight for control as he undid the strings at the back of the dress. The complexity of the strings were increasing his frustration, as well as motivating him. The tightness of the dress had defined the shape of her body very well. Her form reminded him of classical statues of goddesses.

"You will learn respect…though you may lose some in yourself!" he said, picking her up and putting her on the bed, pinning her wrists with his stronger hands. "I won't let you hit the best base." She insisted, determination evident in her brown eyes. "Try to resist me," he said loosening the clasp that held a strap of her dress.

Mr. Gray reached for something at his bedside table. A pair of metal handcuffs kept Helena chained to the bedpost. "I'm not exactly a fan of…this," Helena managed to say. "Sorry, but…I am." Mr. Gray said, his hand running over her stomach and side.

The moment he reached further to pull off the other strap, he was interrupted by something which jumped from the ceiling.

"_**Let her go…" **_

His voice was instantly recognizable to Helena. In her shame, she pulled the blanket to cover herself while replacing the strap. Mr. Gray turned around to look at Patrick, who was standing with an air of authority and with piercing, icy blue eyes.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" Mr. Gray asked, looking at him with suspicion. Apparently, Patrick learned how to hide his tracts well. "Let her go. She shouldn't be the one to suffer." He said, his voice without any hint of fear. "Quite strange…I've never heard of a servant saving his fellow." Mr. Gray said.

"What do I get if I let her go?" Mr. Gray said. "I know you want vengeance. Let me be your instrument of attaining it." Patrick said, looking for a comb. Mr. Gray's eyes widened in shock, and then he grinned. "However you deciphered my thoughts, I'm amazed by your intelligence, Christian," he told Patrick.

"The works you read…they all have one common denominator: revenge. I know whom you want to take revenge on, so do as I say and I can turn over the right person. May I borrow this?" Patrick said, taking the Spanish comb from Helena's hair, letting her black hair fall all over her face. She nodded, in tears, knowing what he was planning to do.

"Alright…she never gave me what I wanted anyway…" and he clapped his hands. A guard came into the room, wearing thick eyeglasses and a hat. Had Patrick and Helena looked at him with awe, Mr. Gray would have known that it was "Johann" a.k.a. Chartrand.

Mr. Gray gave him the keys to the cuffs. "Release her…but keep her here in this room." He said, eyeing "Johann". Chartrand immediately released his companion but she did not say anything. Mr. Gray then turned to look at Patrick, almost mesmerized by the redhead's piercing eyes and unbroken spirit.

"Christian, something's telling me you're not who you seem to be." Mr. Gray said, eyeing the comb in Patrick's hand. "First of all…my name's not Christian." Chartrand and Helena almost gasped, but did not do so in fear of suspicion. "Who are you, then?" Mr. Gray asked, filling the room with his hollow voice.

"You probably remember me from one night…a man in the shadows. I gave you money…a lot of it. You may not know this face, but you told me that you'd always remember the way I wore my hair." Patrick said, starting to comb his spiky hair backwards, making him look like the priest he once was.

"You called me Master…another codename…Janus." Patrick threw the fragile comb to the wall, smashing it into pieces. Mr. Gray seemed like he had seen the heavens open. "Do you remember me now, Mr. Gray? Do you know why I told you to let her go? You have something better than a woman. Right now, you have your worst adversary looking you in the eye." Patrick said.

Mr. Gray suddenly snarled, "So…you were the one who put that car bomb…Patrick McKenna! Wasn't it you?" his finger was stiffly pointed at the former camerlengo. Patrick did not flinch. "That's not the question. The question is…how did _**you **_survive?" he said.

"The man Mr. Langdon and Ms. Vetra chased was not me. He was _just_ a decoy. I knew this was coming. Of course, when a hitman finishes his job, he should be disposed of, so that there would be no truly reliable witnesses. Wasn't that your purpose, McKenna?" Mr. Gray said, fuming mad.

"Yes," Patrick's voice was barely a whisper. Mr. Gray then turned to Chartrand and Helena. "You! Take her away and make sure she never returns! Kill her if you find it pleasing! I have no use for women who cannot give me what I want." Chartrand and Helena immediately left the room, leaving the blanket that Helena used to cover herself. The red shoes that Mr. Gray threw to the floor were gone.

* * *

"What did he just do?" Helena furtively whispered to Chartrand as they left, still acting hostile. "He did this to save us. He's giving us a leeway. We have to make the most out of this. We can save him as long as the others find out about this." Chartrand said, dragging her.

"_Johann…_where are the guards?" Helena asked. They passed by a broom closet. "Here they are." Chartrand said, opening it to reveal a pair of guards bound and gagged with comical expressions in their eyes. Locking it, Chartrand smiled to himself. "Damn." Helena said.

They hurried to their room in the basement. Chartrand stayed outside, yelling insults and acting out the part, telling her to hurry, and so on. She was in the bathroom, tears streaming from her eyes as she violently pulled out the pins in her hair.

_It was my fault…now he's in trouble because of me. I should have kicked the guy, gunned him down or whatever._ Helena said, crying, but her make-up was not even smudged. _I hate this fucking dress!_ Searching the cabinets, she found a pair of scissors. _This is the fastest way to get out of it. Taking off the laces will cost us time._

The costly piece of clothing now lay in a shredded scarlet heap, worse than documents going through a paper shredder. Helena kept the scissors and washed her face until it resumed its natural color. The foundation had made her look too pale; the lipstick made her look like a 19th-century nightclub dancer. Instead of red, high-heeled shoes, her feet now wore black sneakers. Instead of a red gown, she wore a jacket, a shirt and jeans.

Pillowcases, blankets, combs and some other things were gathered into the bathroom. Holding Chartrand's lighter, Helena burned the items and ran outside with Chartrand and their remaining belongings (as well as Patrick's). Near the stables, Sergeant Haber was waiting for them, and he took them into his minivan. A smoke alarm had just rung when they left.

"Where's Patrick?" Sergeant Haber asked, putting on his seatbelt. "He's still in there with Mr. Gray! Who knows what could happen? He revealed himself to save us…" Helena said, clutching her forehead.

"What?" Karl asked in disbelief. "Yes…and we're worried. Mr. Gray had always wanted to take revenge on Patrick. Now that Patrick gave himself up…he could torture him, hurt him…or worse…" Chartrand said but was cut off by Helena.

"_BASTA! _It was stupid on his part!" she screamed. "We must go." Sergeant Haber said, driving at breakneck speed. "By the way, why was that fire alarm sounding?"

"She burned any evidence that would prove our identity." Chartrand said, checking the back part to see if their remaining luggage was secure. "Good move, Helena. It could also distract Gray and provide our comrade with a chance to escape." Sergeant Haber said.

"I have to admit, though, that Patrick used the vents to save Helena from being raped by Mr. Gray. I was with him there, but we couldn't think of anything that made sense. He told me that if he wouldn't get out alive, I had to help her find someone else. He knew it was coming. This confrontation had been his plan from the very start, no matter what would happen." Chartrand said.

"I know Patrick as someone who always has a few more tricks up his sleeve…if not a few more aces in his hand. I wish, though, that he would be saved by the Father, the way he was saved from his suicide attempt." Sergeant Haber said.

* * *

"That decoy wouldn't have any significance for me. Why would I be plotting revenge if he had been someone else?" Mr. Gray asked, encircling his prey. "Who was the decoy, Mr. Gray? Tell me. I might make up for his death." Patrick said, the gun holster on his thigh camouflaged by his pants.

"He was my twin brother."

"Now, do you understand why I go as far as this? Besides the fact that I despise your Church?" "I perfectly understand." Patrick said. Then, the smoke alarm rang, triggering the sprinklers to simulate rain indoors. Patrick's hair was wet, sticking to his forehead, eyes peering out from the spiky fringes. Mr. Gray was starting to walk away.

"I perfectly understand why you wanted to read 'The Cask of Amontillado'. It was all about revenge. You were plotting to bomb Vatican City with a certain compound as the base of your explosive. You were to put it in the Niche of the Palliums." Patrick said, to Mr. Gray's surprise.

"How did you know that…bastard?" Mr. Gray asked, his eyes growing large. He refused to look at Patrick, knowing that his shocked appearance would increase his morale. "You must have found my stash of plans. You were here as an agent of the Vatican, weren't you? I bet your two companions are too. Tsk…I don't need them anyway. At least you are mine for the taking."

He faced Patrick and was tried not to flinch when he saw a high-caliber firearm pointed at his skull. "You will stop this madness and settle it with me," the former_ camerlengo_ said. "So…the priest could handle a gun now. This is exciting…" the former hitman replied. "I'm doing this for my Church and for those who might be affected by that bomb." Patrick said.

"Lies…lies…and more lies. Why would you protect the Church that sentenced you? Oh, because they forgave you after 6 months? Deceitful, corrupt men hiding in white collars and cassocks…what kind of people are you?" Mr. Gray said, also drawing out his own and pointing it at Patrick's temple.

"You're only saying that because you've never been forgiven. Let me tell you this. Whatever you do to me, I hold absolutely no grudge against you. Everything was my fault. Now, I ask for your pardon." Patrick said, coolly and civilly. "You want pardon? Here's your express lane to hell!" The moment Mr. Gray's finger pulled the trigger, Patrick pushed away his arm. The gun flew from Mr. Gray's hand. The bullet hit the wall.

Patrick pulled his enemy's shirt and flung him to the wall. He threw away his gun. "I know how use a gun, but I don't want to do so. Stop it once and for all." Mr. Gray was furtively looking at a point in the room and cocked his head slightly.

"Your loss…" Mr. Gray said to Patrick.

With blue eyes as huge as saucers, Patrick felt a stinging pain in his shoulder. Pulling away the projectile, he saw a dart tipped with a clear liquid. Throwing the dart away, he fell to the floor in an instant, but not without a smirk.

Mr. Gray dusted off his shirt and called in the person who shot Patrick with the dart. "Call the guards in and chain this idiot to the wall of _the_ room," he said. The person obeyed, and soon, two men were carrying an unconscious Patrick to a dank, dark room. Mr. Gray trailed after them, chastising himself for not shooting the…_Pesky priest…ex-priest._

* * *

Heavy…

Painful…

Clanging…

Patrick's senses were piqued by the discomfort he was experiencing. His shoulders and arms were numb; his legs and feet were restrained. Heavy chains were used to keep him against a cold, damp stone wall. _He's patterning this after literature, isn't he?_

"Wake up."

A painful slap turned his cheek red.

Opening his eyes, unable to resist the pain, Patrick said nothing. He looked up at Mr. Gray and his goons. "I was thinking of a way to kill you and I wouldn't want to make it a quick disposal. I would be too kind so as to kill you unconscious. I want you to suffer…to starve and get beaten up in the process. What better way than the killing method described in our favorite story?" he teased.

"It doesn't matter…even if this is immurement." Patrick said, looking around the spacious stone room, without a bed or chair. It only had a row of wooden torches on each of the four walls, as well as a window crossed with electric wires. "I hope you enjoy a week or so without your basic needs. By the way, your friends burned your room and they did a good job of hiding your tracts," Mr. Gray said, kicking his defenseless opponent in the shins.

"Natalia, stay here for five minutes, then, leave. Make sure he's weak when you get out." "Yes, sir."

"So…you're the one who shot me. Good aim." Patrick said, catching his breath. She was about to kick him in the chest when he said, "You're doing this for money, I'm sure. I hope you know what you're doing." "What do you want?" Natalia asked, flipping her caramel hair aside.

"Nothing…I'm just surprised that you're working for someone who'd dare bomb Vatican City." Patrick said, a grin on his lips. "WHAT?" she asked. "You didn't know that?" Patrick shook his head and frowned.

"No…you're just trying to get me to your side." Natalia said, going towards the door. "I'm telling you the truth," Patrick said, as she went out and sealed all the locks of the door. _Poor guy…he should have surrendered. It's a waste of his looks and voice._ With the last lock in place, she started to feel the storm brewing in her head.

Patrick looked on as his door was sealed. Sighing, he tried not to feel the pain. _Whatever happens…I'm game._ Closing his eyes, he had no idea if he would see the light of day once more.

* * *

And…there you have it. After a long wait, chapter 8 is here! Chapter 9 to follow soon! Thanks for reading!

-TDYSG


	9. Borderless

Thank you, to my very loyal readers. It was quite difficult writing the previous chapter because it tackled heavy subject matter. This chapter will not be too heavy, but it is sentimental. Of course, the question in your heads is: "Will Patrick survive?" I'll have fun answering that.

In this chapter, I'm challenging your imagination and your sense of reality. Enjoy trying to separate fact from fantasy.

Disclaimer: You already know what I own and don't own. I also don't own Moulin Rouge.

* * *

Chapter 9: Borderless

_"Thank you, Sergeant Haber, for bringing them back safely. All the information they gathered was sufficient. Red alert has been raised in all the zones." Commander Danilo Laguardia said, saluting the officer. Sergeant Haber, though, seemed unenthusiastic._

"_It is my honor, sir." Sergeant Haber replied. "I saw Chartrand and Helena already, but…where is Patrick?" the commander asked. "I'm afraid…he turned himself over to Mr. Gray just to give Helena an escape." Karl replied, refusing to look at his commander._

"_Good God," Commander Laguardia said, turning pale. In a few moments, he fell to the floor. Helena and Chartrand rushed to the scene in a blink of an eye. "Karl, what did you tell him?" Helena asked. "I told him that Patrick turned himself in." Karl replied, fanning the commander._

"_That won't help…we have to bring him to an infirmary." Chartrand said. "Gentlemen, please get me a bottle of ammonia and some cotton. NOW," Helena said. A couple of guards ran off to get the said items. They wouldn't dare anger Inspector Gallego. She was an angel, but when pissed, her gaze could kill._

_A few seconds later, a bottle of ammonia and balls of cotton were at her feet, Dabbing the cotton with the foul-smelling liquid, Helena had to cover her own nose. "Here we go, Commander." She said, placing the ball near his nose. Commander Laguardia started to stir, wrinkling his nose. "What was that disgusting smell?" he asked, "And what are all of you doing here?"_

"_You fainted, Commander. Inspector Gallego made you take a whiff of ammonia to wake you up." Sergeant Haber said. "Thank you, Inspector. Alright, give me some fresh air so that I can breathe." Danilo said, standing up, although his legs were shaky._

"_Lieutenant Chartrand, Inspector Gallego, Sergeant Haber, you will have to meet with His Holiness regarding the situation. I will bring Commissioner Marino along. I think the Polizia di Stato can help." Commander Laguardia said, walking towards the façade of the building._

No longer did she sit by the stone-cold walls of the mountain manor, rather, she was looking out from the balcony of her flat in Rome. She was no longer the resigned, bespectacled maid, Victoria Ojeda. Once again, she was the dangerous, stern _Polizia di Stato_ Inspector Helena Maria Gallego. But her toughness started to wear every minute she spent looking at the imposing dome of St. Peter's.

_I'm sorry, Patrick. I can't save you…Chartrand told me that you didn't want anyone saving you._

A furry creature rubbed against her leg, whimpering. It was Feliz, her enthusiastic Siberian husky. Oftentimes, Helena herself had described this dog as a "human hiding in a wolf's body". She looked at her pet and knelt down to its level.

"Thank you for your concern, Feliz…these are tough times," she said, embracing Feliz, who in turn, snuggled against her shoulder. The dog seemed to understand his master's emotions. She was hopeless, trying to find a way out.

* * *

A nervous rookie read the memorandum to be given an officer. A senior officer happened to pass by. Luckily for the rookie, the officer was kind to those who were new in the station. "Who's that for?" she asked, smiling at the young man. "Inspector Helena Gallego. Can you tell me where her cubicle is?" he asked.

"Inspector Carla Fermi, at your service, kid. Keep going straight until you see the third door on the left. Just look for a fair-skinned lady with black curls and brown eyes. She may not look like a cop when you see her, but be careful. She's quite stern. She can be scary if she wants to," the older cop said.

"Umm…thanks. Thanks, Inspector Fermi. Officer Leonardo Silvestri," the young cop shook her hand as she left. "By the way, Leo, she just came from an important mission, so, don't give her a reason to haunt your nightmares." Inspector Fermi said, looking back.

The older cop left to buy a donut while Leonardo started walking. Finally, he found her table, but he was too shy to approach. _Inspector Fermi was right. She doesn't look like a cop._ When he thought she was not aware of his presence…

"You can come out now." Helena said, barely looking up from the stash of papers she was reading. _Oh, shit._ Leonardo thought, walking slowly. She stood behind the desk, smiling, but something seemed wrong. He could see that her brown eyes could just cry at any given moment.

The semblance of vulnerability calmed him down. Yes, she wouldn't bite. "Sit down." Helena said, her long fingers gesturing to the chair in front of her desk. Leonardo sat down and gave the memorandum from Commissioner Marino.

"Meeting…1800 hours…Vatican...with Haber, Marino, Laguardia, Chartrand and His Holiness…" Helena scanned through the paper. "Thanks for bringing this in. May I know your name?" she asked, putting down the paper and looking him in the eye. He could hear the room bustling with activity and he could hear some equipment being strapped on.

"Leonardo Silvestri, Inspector," he said. "Alright, Officer Silvestri, tell the Commissioner that I'll be at the meeting. For the meantime…" she said, taking out a gun and loading a cartridge into it, "I'll be out." He watched her wear a vest and tie her hair, as well as strapping her guns and making sure they were working well.

It was a wonderful sight, until…

"I don't know what you're looking at…but go to Marino now. He'll kill you if he doesn't get a reply." Helena said, aware that he was staring at her. "And when you're done reporting to him, get yourself some action," she said, walking off soundlessly even in her heavy boots.

The rookie went out and reported to Marino, who was (thankfully) not cruising around his office sitting on the swivel chair. One look at the stunned rookie and he knew that Inspector Gallego had unknowingly snared another young, innocent officer. The commissioner let him sit in front of his desk.

"She will come to the meeting. She just left for some operation," Leonardo said, nervously looking at his superior. "So, how do you find her?" Commissioner Marino asked, with a glint in his eye. "At first, she seemed scary until she spoke. She's like an angel…although--" Leo said.

"She's got an attitude, yes. Helena's a rebel. I've got news for you, Officer. She has a boyfriend. According to some people, he can make a man doubt his sexuality. Heck, even Helena herself can do that." Marino said, a mean grin on his lips. "Really, Commissioner? Do you have a picture?" Officer Silvestri asked.

"So, you want to test yourself? Very well, then," Marino went to his fireproof filing cabinet and produced a picture of Patrick McKenna. He laid it on the table for the rookie to see. Leonardo stared long and hard at the photograph. Lush, reddish-brown hair, bright blue eyes and a smile lighted up the subject's already bright face. After five seconds, Leonardo's jaw almost dropped.

"I knew it!" Marino said, laughing as the officer clutched the picture and examined it with a distraught look. "Too bad he's not in Rome," the commissioner continued. "He looks familiar…I saw him once!" Officer Silvestri said, his green eyes wide as saucers. "And where did you last see him?" Marino asked, an eyebrow raised.

"In a mountain retreat near Genoa…"

* * *

_So that rookie KNEW something about Patrick? What a coincidence!_ Helena thought. It was 11:45 PM, and she was at the desk in her room, with Feliz staying still at her feet. Instead of a laptop and a printer gracing her desk, there was a penholder, together with a sheet of paper. The balcony door was open, letting in a cool breeze. She was looking at a framed photograph on her table. It was of her and Patrick on their first (and only) date, in _Caffe della Pace_, no less.

_I wonder how we even got here. I never knew that following an oil trail would lead me to him. I don't know why his pain even wracked me and almost tore me apart. He was a criminal…but I just had to take him to the hospital._ "Do you remember the first time he came here?" Helena asked Feliz, scratching the dog's head. A soft whimper was heard, meaning 'yes'.

_The burns…the cuts…they're all part of the past now. I don't know how almost everything vanished within a year or so, but he's like a muddy floor turned spotless. He lost hope, but I wanted him to keep living. Right now, I think I'm failing in that mission. I don't know what drew him to me…but whatever it was…it was too strong for me to think of letting him go._

_I just HAD to take him to the hospital. I just HAD to argue with my cousin. I just HAD to walk around in the shopping center in sunglasses and baggy clothing just to buy him underwear…but I have no regrets…even if I did tell him that I wanted to beat the crap out of him._

Just those thoughts formed vivid pictures in her head. It was as if she had filmed all those important scenes with her eyes and was now viewing it within the confines of her mind. She could still remember the scent of the oils which bathed him. She could still remember the Feliz's enthusiasm upon seeing a new friend: Patrick.

"You remember when you first saw Patrick, right?" Helena asked Feliz, who was getting rather sleepy. At the sound of his other master's name, Feliz's ears immediately perked up. "Of course you do," Helena said, chuckling.

An empty sheet of paper was sitting patiently on her desk when a gust of wind turned over the cup where her pens sat. A black Pilot G-Tec fell forward. This was the lady's pen of choice, besides her Parkers and her colorful Staedtlers stowed away in a cabinet.

Instead of fretting over the possibility of the pen's inability to write (especially if it falls with great force), Helena took the cap off and wrote the name "Carlo Ventresca" in script. Her handwriting was made with bold, straightforward strokes. Looking at the side, Helena found her canine companion sleeping.

_Carlo Ventresca…the pseudonym he used to get a job. I don't know if he had done well, but I think Mr. Franco would be happy enough to have an employee with a bright face and a sharp mind…Piazza Navona's very own 'Father Chick Magnet'._

_We were happy enough to live as cohabiting individuals, just friends. He said that I saved him from himself; he saved me from being killed by brawling drunks. Those incidents were minor compared to total losses of light in our lives._

_Never did I know that one of those dark moments in our lives would draw us closer._

"Trial"

This was the second word Helena wrote on the paper. Those days were not only turbulent for her mind, more so for her heart. She had not experienced a very close companionship since setting foot in Rome. Bella may have been helpful as a best friend, but Patrick was different. _Very different_.

Hearing about his excommunication was difficult. All she could do was to relish whatever time was left for them. For all she knew, both of them could fall for others. Before his trials, she promised to stand by him whatever happened.

_He became a media luminary, a prisoner of the Sistine. I'm grateful that Attorney Bellucci took the case and became Patrick's lawyer. It was difficult for the three of us. I could remember my heart almost skipping a beat when Bella found out that I was the one who stayed with Patrick. I thought she'd kill me or turn me in…_

"_How could you not tell me…that you were hanging out with the hottest guy in the world?"_

_That is definitely unlikely to come from an officer's mouth. But it was not Bella's knowledge of the matter that made me afraid…it was the separation. I could still remember the icy hue of his eyes when he woke up on the first day of staying in the Vatican once more. _

_Every second that passed, I was falling…very hard. I tried using reason, but I guess reason does not block the heart from beating for another. Even if he was considered a criminal, among other things, I could not help it. Even when he was declared guilty, what did I care about, anyway?_

_On one of those nights, he came home, and at the right time. I was sick. The next day...I was sure that he probably caught a high fever. I thought his words were delirious; they were true._

"Kiss."

_Just doing so could've been trouble for Patrick, had he not been dispensed without his knowledge the night before the kiss. Oh no, don't remind me of those lips…I might die trying to remember the sensation. Untouched lips are the best; because they were for you from the very beginning. That kiss cemented whatever I felt for him._

Her drooping eyelids were a sign that she needed to sleep already. Feliz was already snoozing by her feet. She went off the chair and lay in bed. Every important event played in her dreams. How could they now? They were etched in her heart.

* * *

Three days.

For that duration, he was chained to a stone wall. He ate only three spoonfuls of watery gruel and drank only half a cup of water every day, both of which were smuggled in by the torturer he had charmed. Unable to move, numb and sore, the chains kept him away from causing trouble. Mr. Gray had sent out some of his goons to search for Helena and Chartrand. Chartrand had dyed his hair light brown and had worn brown contacts ever since. Helena was protected by the police.

Gray's nitrogen-free explosive only needed some finishing touches. He was ready for the ultimate act of revenge…who could stop him? _He has connections with the Genoese police and nobody here could help me…not even Natalia would. I don't want to put anyone's life in danger. Let me die…it would be my reparation for all my wrongs._

Patrick looked at the window directly in front of him. As if the iron bars were not enough, high-voltage electric wires criss-crossed the pane. _If there was only a way for me to say goodbye to Helena before he finally kills me._ His cynical, depressed psyche told him.

Just two seconds after that thought, he mentally kicked himself. _Helena…there…you have an incentive for living! That's it!_ It then sunk into him that memories were fuel to keep people alive. As long as one keeps throwing them into the fire, there would be enough to keep anyone living, even with 12 lashes on his back, starvation, dehydration and lack of sleep.

_This may be hard, but my excommunication was much harder. I treated every day of living in Avia as if it were a step closer to coming home. I never expected to come home so quickly. I was to be sent for this mission…my state now is the effect of that mission._

_But before the mission, I could remember Helena's eyes being the size of platters when she saw me in the Piazza. I should have taken a picture of the priceless look on her face. Nonetheless, she was still the most beautiful creature in the world right then._

_It was embarrassing that there were two people staring at each other in the middle of a hostage crisis._

_I was struck by a barrage of, ehem, warm words from Helena. I found out later that she was so surprised. At least, even in the fray, I saved her from a sniper…and shot him in the shoulder. He'd have to kill me before he can even get close to her._

_"Hey, gunslinger boy, I'd like you to meet someone…Yes, you!"_

_I met him face-to-face, and I hope he'd never try to take down the force again. And here comes the Commissioner…telling us about an infiltration mission…but none of those left much of an impression on me. What I can clearly remember…_

…_is the date._

_Oh, yes...if almost falling from the Colosseum and ordering pistachio ice cream from Caffe della Pace counts. Bella getting drunk, Chartrand calling me 'Patricia'…and the busted bulb which caused a panic in the club._

_There's always calm before a storm…and the mission was the storm._

There was fury in his heart when he remembered Mr. Gray's attempt to rape Helena. He made her look like a woman from the Montmartre district of Paris. A red dress, a pair of red shoes, ghostly white skin and scarlet lips became her costume. _Whatever that movie was…_

He confessed his identity so that his companions would be given time to escape. Of course, he expected Mr. Gray wanting to murder him. So far, the monster was half-successful but if Patrick just kept the flames of his will running, nothing could kill him.

Looking at the stars which dotted the clear mountain night, Patrick wished that he could find a way to come home. Whichever opportunity presented itself to him…he would take.

_I have to close my eyes again…alright…what picture formed in my head? The dream…where she fell of the Colosseum…and I jumped after her, and she told me to shut up and just kiss her. It reminds me of the time we were in the sea with Chartrand._

_I feel light…as if I'm floating. I haven't eaten well for days, and I haven't slept well, so…no, no…don't let it be…am I dead?_

* * *

Helena was awake, looking at the view presented by the balcony. The paper was crumpled, sent to the garbage bin. Feliz was also awake, watching over his master, afraid that she may do something irrational out of fear and worry. "Patrick…I hope you hear me." She said, standing by the balcony door. At that, a strong gust of wind swirled around the room.

Helena fell to the ground, unconscious, barely breathing. Feliz saw white smoke and fine powder leave Helena's mouth. The wind died down, and Feliz ran to his master, who was lying on the floor. He was poking her with his cold nose, howling, trying to make her wake up.

_Helena! WAKE UP! What's going on? Anybody, help!_ For now, all the dog could do was to guard his defenseless master.

_Why am I flying? _Helena thought, as she felt herself being carried by a strong wind at an unbelievable speed. She could see the lights of Rome flicker like fireflies under her feet. _Where am I going?_ She kept going north, until she could see a familiar coastline, some bouncing cetaceans and the freezing mountain air bite her cheek.

As she flew at breakneck speed, a specter joined her. She could not see the appearance of the other being since it flew at a higher speed than she did. Without warning, they created a huge collision in the sky. In a few moments, the two ghostly beings were in a tight embrace.

"Patrick..." she said, intangible tears coming out of her nonexistent eyes. "Helena…" his voice was nothing more than the wailing wind. "He's sending his men to find you and Chartrand. You have to take care of yourself. Don't worry about me. I'll have a plan soon enough," he continued, holding her close. "No…we'll send people who can save you. If it would require me to save you, then I would." Helena said.

"It's too dangerous. I won't let you get hurt, Helena. Your life--" Patrick was cut off by the impossible sensation of her lips on his. "I've gone through enough trouble in my life. I'd enjoy at least one more just to see you alive," she said, breaking her lips from his.

"For now…remember me…remember all that we have done…wait for me. You'll be saved."

No sooner had Helena said those words, Patrick rushed to be in her embrace for what seemed to be the last time. The moment their eyes locked onto each others, every memory came into place. Scenes flashed before their very eyes: Mr. Gray's attempt…the escape from the manor…Patrick's imprisonment.

In a moment that seemed like eternity, the forces of reality started pulling them back to their original forms. "I'll see you again…" was Helena's last breath to him. With the same breakneck speed that pushed them to meet, forces pulled them back to their respective dwellings.

* * *

White smoke once again engulfed the room and diffused into a prone mass on the floor. The canine noticed a change in the body's color. From an ashen gray, it resumed its healthy hue. It could see, though, a red dust that seemed unaffected by the small gusts which entered the room.

Clutching her head, Helena opened her eyes, only to find Feliz's probing nose just an inch above her. "Alright…that was just a dream," she said, sitting up. The moment she moved, she saw the red dust fly away from her in a spiraling path towards the heavens. "Feliz…something's telling me that something happened while I was asleep."

_There was, Helena…there was._ Feliz thought, looking into the darkness together with his master.

* * *

It was 1 'o clock in the morning, an unlikely time for a certain office to be open…but this time, it was. The desk lamp was giving off a blinding white light, focused on a stash of papers on a desk. Behind the desk was a wide-awake Commissioner Marino.

"So…you guys were held back by your corrupt commissioner back in Genoa?" he asked, looking at the young policeman in front of him. "I'm afraid so…but, I did see Mr. McKenna walking around as I secretly gathered information."

"Officer Silvestri, I want to be assured of your—" the commissioner was cut off by the young man. "If you allow me, Commissioner, let me do something to help him. It's the least I can do for not doing my job well back in Genoa." Leonardo said, emerging from the darkness and pleading to Commissioner Marino.

"Is this because you fell for Helena? Or Patrick, for that matter?" Commissioner Marino asked, one eyebrow raised. "No…I just want to make sure the Vatican doesn't get bombed, as you said…" Leonardo said, a memory suddenly entering his head. "Why the interest in the seat of the Church?" Marino probed him some more.

"My grandfather's elder brother lives there," Leonardo said, dropping his words softly. "What's your relative's name?" Marino asked further, making sure that the officer's loyalty was to the _Polizia di Stato_. "It would be rude to say his name without a proper title…but his name is Saverio. Saverio Mortati." Leonardo said, turning around to hold the doorknob.

Had Commissioner Marino suffered from a heart condition, he would have been dead on the spot. _THE POPE?_ He gulped immediately and called the young man back. "Do all that is in your power to save those whom you wish to save." Marino took out an envelope and handed it over to the officer. "Do you remember what Patrick looks like?" "Yes, _signore_; he is unmistakable," the young cop answered.

"Catch the next flight to Genoa. As long as Patrick's alive, you still have time."

* * *

Officer Silvestri was wondering about his police uniform, which lay crumpled and messy in his apartment. He had left home in haste, cramming his wallet, his passport, Marino's envelope, four changes of clothing, a rosary, sunglasses and a hat in his messenger bag.

The young officer looked like he came out of a tornado when he came to the Leonardo da Vinci-Fiumicino Airport. His phone rang. _How did he get my number?_ It was Marino. "Yes?" Silvestri asked, going to a secluded corner.

"_L'incontrerò a _Terminal 1_. C'è un volo di Alitalia a 3:00. Aspettarmi, stampo la sua carta d'imbarco. Sarò lì non appena posso_. [1]" Marino barked on the other line, with the sound of a printer in the background. He hung up without saying another word.

Leonardo looked at the sign hovering above his head. _Terminal 1_. He smiled to himself saying, "I'm already here, commissioner."

Five minutes later, Commissioner Marino came, wearing incongruous sunglasses together with his black-and-white coat and skinny tie ensemble. He seemed to be more of an FBI agent than an Italian police commissioner.

Marino found the short, lightly-tanned brunette standing like a pole in the middle of the terminal. "Here you go. Good luck," he said, with a heavy pat on Silvestri's back. The boarding pass was now in Leonardo's hand. Marino was nowhere to be found. Leonardo waited.

_This is for you…Your Holiness. This is for you, Patrick._ Officer Silvestri thought, entering the gate at 2:45 AM.

* * *

During the wee hours of day, Patrick did not see the blue dust which went through the electric wires which criss-crossed the window of his cell. He was too exhausted, too drained to move, to think, or to even look.

The rosy dawn came upon the mountains and the sun shed light on the dark, damp stone room. With light opening his eyes, Patrick heard drumbeats in his ear. _The sound of war…I don't know if I have a chance to live, but I'm thankful to have woken up to see the light of day. Only God can decide my fate._

With a deafening creak on its rusty hinges, the great wooden door slowly opened. Evil stepped into the room, complete with a smug smirk and a key spinning on his finger.

* * *

[1] "I'll meet you at Terminal 1. There's an Alitalia flight at 3:00. Wait for me, I'm printing out your boarding pass. I'll be there as soon as I can."

I'm really sorry for putting this up quite late, because of school and all, I had problems squeezing some writing time into my schedule.

I leave you with three questions:

1. Is Leonardo Silvestri a hero…or a double-agent?

2. What's Gray's ultimate plan?

3. How does Patrick fit into the puzzle?


	10. Time Roulette

Now, my friends, the end is here. I'm sorry for not mentioning about this earlier, but I think…the ninth chapter was already nearing the climax. From here on, there will be one huge spike upward and down, down, down everything goes. (Bad pun, since there _is_ a jump scene here.)

Don't worry; I have an Easter egg for my readers. An eleventh chapter will be posted as an epilogue, and it is sure to surprise you.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own _Angels and Demons_. I only own Helena, Feliz, Laguardia, Leo, Bella…and some of the others who are original creations of my demented head. I also don't own _The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen._ I'll be using a quote.

Warnings: Foul words, violence…

* * *

Chapter 10: Time Roulette

"Good morning, Patrick," Mr. Gray said, gray eyes staring like daggers. "Buongiorno." Patrick replied. Mr. Gray walked around his _charming, noble, and calm prey_. "I'm sure you're enjoying the slow death I want you to suffer. I hope you also enjoyed this room carved from the mountain…"

"You got this from 'The Cask of Amontillado'. I'm impressed with your interpretation of the ending…and here I am, suffering the same fate as poor Montresor. All this for revenge…just lovely," the former camerlengo raised his bright blue eyes to his captor with smirk on his pale lips. "You think you're in a position to talk?" Mr. Gray asked, annoyed at Patrick's calmness.

"Why not?" Mr. Gray was inwardly terrified of the man. Patrick's eyes seared through him. "You want to bomb the seat of the Church? I think you're mistaken if you think it will destroy the thousands of years that the Church had survived. With or without the Vatican, it will prevail. Even if you kill me, there wouldn't be a tangible harm. I'm worried for all the innocents you could kill...and for them, I'm ready to lay my life." He said, every inch the priest he once was.

"And I thought that dispensation would remove the indoctrination...you remind me very much of a certain saint in your Church...By the way, I took your gun away." Mr. Gray sneered, taking the key and unlocking the chain which held Patrick's left wrist. "Indoctrination? I understand my religion better than you ever will. Of course, I _studied_ it. Well, thank you for letting that go. What deal are you going to put me through?" Patrick asked, with the same tone Mr. Gray used.

"I have to free you because I don't see any progress with the slow death method. Do you want to know what I'm going to do? I did make an initial plan...but I changed it anyway." Mr. Gray said, the chains clanging loudly as his goons took a hold of the released captive. "Of course," Patrick said.

"I don't need to explain. I'll just take you there, you filthy scoundrel. But before that…I'll just check on my little firecracker." Mr. Gray said, giving a devilish smirk before he and his goons left. "Your acetone-based bomb?" Patrick asked, insolent as ever.

"How did you find out about that, you _bastard_?"

"There's a metal bolt in your library…I found your plans in a secret compartment…and remember the time you went with the driver and bought salon products?" For that, he received a sharp punch in the face, making his nose spurt out a gentle stream of red mercury.

Mr. Gray left, infuriated. _How did he know about that?_ Storming off together with his goons, he was thinking of burning Patrick McKenna alive once more.

* * *

Leonardo inched his way towards the mountain manor, shaking off the cramped feeling of being in an airplane seat. Nobody was outside, making it easy for him to go and look for some hidden entrances. He was trying too hard; a doorway had been gaping at his face for so long. It was the same doorway Helena and Chartrand used to run away from Mr. Gray.

He was surprised to find out that it was unlocked, so he entered, greeted by a cold stone corridor. He closed the door and put the latch back. There were numerous doors but the one at the end of the long hallway piqued him. It was narrower than the others. _Only an anorexic could fit there!_ He thought sourly.

To his dismay, the door was locked.

_What do I do now?_ He turned the knob violently, twisting it once to the right, twice to the left. Three more turns to the right and one to the left later, the door suddenly opened. "What the--" Officer Silvestri almost swore. He couldn't just wonder and think how it happened. It was open; therefore, he had to go in. Time was running out.

Running in and closing the door, he found a spiral staircase which seemed to reach to the heavens. He removed his shoes and took quick, light steps up the stairs so as to avoid detection. His shoelaces were tied to his belt loops.

The top seemed miles and miles away but he could not stop. He had to hurry. Patrick's life could be decided by the deadly game that he had played with the killer. When he was in the middle, he found a rock attached to the wall. Out of curiosity, he took out the rock. He realized why the climb had been long and hard. _This staircase was carved out of the rock outcrop!_

Returning the rock, he kept running until he reached the last step. He was panting, but he still had to reach wherever Patrick McKenna was. He saw a door, as narrow as the one downstairs, and decided to rush into it. It was open, thankfully.

Leonardo found himself walking into some sort of medieval dungeon, with moss creeping up the dark stone walls. Immediately, he was filled with dread upon walking. There could be cameras, but his eyes found none. He had to take this risk.

He heard a sound that chilled his bones. _Chains…rattling chains_. He tried to find the source of the sound. It was strongest when he was in front of a door with iron bars on the bottom. He crouched down and looked through the bars.

"Is anyone there?" he whispered, hoping the stones would create an echo. "Yes," Leonardo perked up and saw his target. "Are you one of his goons?" Patrick asked him. "No..." The younger man said. "How did you get here? No one knows about the path to this place," Patrick said. "I snuck in," Leonardo sheepishly replied, "I'm here to rescue you,"

"That's not necessary. What you have to do is to alert the Genoese police about this man. File these cases against him: frustrated homicide, frustrated rape and terrorist activities. He's planning to blow up the Vatican, and ever since, the Holy See has known. They're just waiting. Contact them and tell them that the plan is to be executed today…but not if I can stop it." Patrick said, quite daring and noble.

"Mr. McKenna, I'm Leonardo Silvestri of the _Polizia di Stato_…His Holiness' nephew..." "He told me a lot about you. I never thought I'd see you in person," Patrick said, "Go and get them arrested. If you come here in time, you might stop the bomb from being sent over."

"Why didn't you think of escaping?" Leonardo implored. "The window has high-voltage wires. I'll die trying. There are no weak, crumbling rocks in this room. You should get away from here or else you can get into trouble as well," Patrick was practically shooing the younger man.

"But what about you…you can die," "I almost died the last time a bomb was involved. If this is to be my reprieve for all the bad I've done, I'm ready. The Lord can take me anytime He wants to." Patrick told the officer. "Now go, before anyone finds you here," Patrick bade him goodbye, making sure that the young man would not be found.

Leonardo used the same path to get back and escaped into the forest, knowing the mountain very well. He had been up the mountains many times. It wouldn't be a problem. _I hope I can get back in time._

* * *

Patrick silently murmured some prayers, making his amends with Heaven, knowing that he could die. He could hear a clock striking its final hour. The bell rang loudly, deafening him. It was an ominous sensation. _Chartrand, Bella…take care of Helena for me if anything happens._

The wooden door burst open and Patrick was seized from the room, bound with rope. Mr. Gray was holding a package in his hand. Patrick could be sure that it was the explosive device. "Come, Patrick. I want to show you how you'll die. With a bang, and in style, of course," he sneered.

"You look awful…bloody nose, dirty clothes. You smell even worse…" Mr. Gray added, "Why didn't you give up on living? Anyone whom I put through that kind of torture shouldn't live this long." "Let's just say that an iron will props your dying body up," Patrick said, sharp as ever.

"Don't worry, I have some consolation for you. You'll meet your end looking clean," Mr. Gray opened a door and a shower room appeared. "I'm not sure about this." Patrick asked. "It's safe," Mr. Gray turned one of the knobs and warm water came out. "Do you think I'd let you die painlessly?"

"At least…it's not a…never mind," Patrick went inside. The door was locked from the outside. He had no choice but to actually take a bath. _He won't gas you. He wants to blow you apart._ The warm water was luxurious, but he did not waste time. He could also meet his end in that bathroom. He scrubbed at himself and rubbed soap vigorously all over until he was clean. He dried himself.

"Are you done?" Mr. Gray asked. "Yes." The door was opened and he was tossed a complete set of clothing: underwear, a black shirt, denim pants, and work boots. He wore them immediately, not bothering to look at the mirror and combing his hair. Mr. Gray opened the door, pleased.

"Much better…at least you'd die with some dignity," Mr. Gray's henchmen grabbed him by the arms and led him in front of the manor. "Here you are…" Mr. Gray said, showing him a familiar transportation device. "It will just take you half an hour…or less…to reach the target and bomb it,"

Patrick was about to fall unconscious (more because of the shock of seeing a helicopter than his hunger and thirst) but he saw a way out. He saw Leonardo run through the bushes. _Good. Now, here we go._ "To Vatican City please, pilot. Do you have your parachute?" Mr. Gray asked, leering at Patrick.

"Yes, sir," the pilot said. "Hold it! Let go of the man and put your hands in the air," a police officer lunged out of the bushes, together with others, all holding rifles. Mr. Gray said, "Marcelo, gun please." The henchman drew out a pistol. Mr. Gray unlocked it and cocked it to Patrick's head. "If you shoot, he kicks the bucket," he told the policeman.

"Hold your fire," the officer said, facing his men. Mr. Gray nodded to the other henchman and he dropped a strange can on the ground. "BOMB VOYAGE!" the light-haired criminal yelled, a deep laugh following the quote. Gray smoke enveloped the area; it was impossible to make out any figures in the haze. "WHAT'S THAT SMELL?" an officer blurted through coughs.

They could hear the deafening whir of helicopter blades and the smoke started to clear when the chopper rose into the air and sped off. Some of the officers tried to shoot it down. "MR. MCKENNA'S ON BOARD! DON'T SHOOT!" Leonardo yelled. "The guy's missing…and so are his men," the chief said.

"Look!" another policeman pointed to the manor. Angry red flames engulfed the building, choking the manor in thick black smoke. "Someone call the fire department! Silvestri, contact the _Polizia di Stato_ in Rome! You! Contact the Vatican and tell them to brace themselves and evacuate the citadel! Squad A, Genoa is on red alert until we find Mr. Gray." the chief barked orders as Leonardo looked into the sky, wishing that they had done better.

_I have to contact Miss Gallego._ He sped off in his car and went down the mountain, not minding the rules anymore, just to get to the station.

* * *

"Hey…Carla… move over! I need to call someone in Rome! It's urgent !" Leonardo had forgotten that words had to be spaced because of the situation. The girl on the desk just ran off, quite terrified. Leonardo sighed, then punched Marino's office number in a record two seconds.

He was tapping his fingernails on the table, almost digging into the wood. He was panicking like hell. One ring…two rings…three rings. "Hello? Commissioner Simon Mar--" "Commissioner…the bomb is to be transported via helicopter. One of our agents has called the Vatican. A manhunt has been launched to find Mr. Gray," he said continuously.

"WHAT?!" Commissioner Marino almost fell off his seat. "Where's Patrick?" he demanded. "I'm afraid, sir, they have taken him with the chopper and the bomb." Leonardo said gravely. A string of curse words fell out of Marino's mouth. "He told me that I shouldn't have followed him…he said he was ready to die." Leonardo said.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU BUST HIM OUT?" Commissioner Marino said, "Ugh. Don't always let people play the martyr. Save them if you have the chance. Remember that when you go on your next rescue mission…if THERE will be a next time. Go back to Rome. Now." Commissioner Marino barked.

Nothing else was heard except the banging of a phone.

"Son, are you alright?" the same superior who was with them said. He was a new commissioner, sent to replace the corrupt old one. "Commissioner Salvi, I have to leave for Rome. Commissioner Marino got upset with me." Leonardo said with shame. "You may go, Leonardo. God be with you. We'll take it from here," Commissioner Salvi said, putting a hand on the young man's shoulder.

"Thank you, Sir," Leonardo took all his belongings from the station and headed off to the airport.

* * *

With his hands and legs tightly bound, Patrick looked at the explosive package beside him. "Enjoying the ride?" asked the pilot, grinning at him with yellow teeth. "If your teeth were much whiter, I would have enjoyed it a bit more," Patrick said, fumbling around.

"You're lucky he said that I couldn't kill you no matter how many mordant comments you give," the pilot said, pushing them to full speed. "Don't push your luck," he added, going back maneuvering the chopper.

_Damn…anything…anything to set me free and throw this object into any water form, a sea, a lake, a river…anywhere! Helena told me that this kind of explosive doesn't do much damage in water. What's poking my back?_ He moved a bit and turned his head around. _Oh…too bad for you, sir. You've been very careless with your stuff…_

* * *

"Commissioner Marino seems to be VERY pissed today," Officer Fabia, one of Helena's colleagues said. She shook her blonde head with a frown. "I don't know, but there seems to be a bomb crisis," Bella, Helena's best friend, said. "Shush. Here he comes…" Officer Fabia said, pulling Bella into a hallway.

Marino's steps were enough to destroy the floor of the police station. His hands were balled into fists and his skin was turning red. His hair was a mess, there was a bandage wrapped around his hand and his white dress shirt had a few drops of red blood. He had been walking around the office for the past few minutes, looking like a man outside the delivery room.

Commissioner Marino was near Helena's desk as he walked. He did a double-take and thought, _No, I shouldn't say it. She might worry…_ He went away from the inspector's desk. He heard her phone ring. "Hello?" she said with a dark, tired voice. For the past few weeks, Helena seemed washed-out, always tired. She sometimes showed no interest in doing anything. The commissioner had given her only paperwork for the past days.

He stayed away from the inspector's view, listening.

"Chartrand! What made you call?" Helena asked, her brown eyes filled with worry. "Helena, a certain Officer Silvestri had told us that the bomb is being transported as we speak. It's in a helicopter." Chartrand said, worrying. "WHAT?! WHAT ELSE DO YOU KNOW?"

Helena heard the phone being passed around. "Hello…Helena, this is Commander Laguardia of the Swiss Guard. I'm sorry to tell you this but…" Danilo's tone was grave. _Don't tell me…don't tell me…_ Helena was almost crying. "Is he dead?" she asked finally.

"If the chopper can be stopped in time…he won't be," Danilo said.

"I promise…if I see Mr. Gray, I will ask Feliz to tear him apart!" Helena barked into the phone. "Wait! Who's Feliz?" Commander Laguardia and Sergeant Haber asked at the same time. "My dog. I promise that I'll murder that son of a--"

"Helena, calm down." His Holiness' voice was heard before she could continue swearing. "How can I calm down when I don't know what's happening 1000 feet up in the air?" "Helena…let me help you. How about we pray…this will not take long. Please, please calm down." His Holiness was a sea of unbroken calm.

"Alright…" she made the sign of the cross. "Repeat after me…or say it after me if you know it. Chartrand, Danilo, Karl…say it with us. Lord, grant me the serenity…" the Pontiff started praying. "To accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can…and wisdom to know the difference. Amen." Helena prayed together with them, hoping that the things she could not change would turn in her favor.

Helena hastily made the sign of the cross. "Helena, I'm sending Chartrand and Sergeant Haber over there with you. Do not worry about me and Commander Laguardia. We will evacuate as soon as we hang up this phone. God be with you, my child," His Holiness said.

"Yes, Father. I will be expecting them." Helena sighed as her callers hung up. _Oh, God. What am I to do?_ Commissioner Marino left, pained to hear that she knew. Sergeant Haber and Chartrand came over, requesting the _commissario_ to give her a leave.

* * *

Patrick was slowly cutting the ropes binding his hands using a sharp piece of scrap metal which had fallen off the old chopper's side. He could see Rome already, but a bit far. He needed some more time to unbind himself. _Come on…come on._ As long as he worked silently, the pilot wouldn't notice. He could feel the cut ropes slide off his wrists, giving him a semblance of comfort.

His feet were still bound, and they were a bit tricky to hide from view. He sawed off the ropes using the metal, trying not to grunt or to make a sound in the process. _A little bit more…a little bit more…_ Finally! The bonds were cut loose…he was free. He threw the sharp metal aside.

"Here comes the best part," the pilot took the gun and the parachute from the other seat and looked at Patrick. "How did you…?" Patrick lunged at him and took the gun out of his hand and cocked it to his head. "No time for questions. Bring me anywhere above the Tiber, or any body of water." Patrick said.

Fearing for his life, the pilot started looking at the ground as Patrick took the gun aside. "Angelo…Angelo, where are you?" a familiar voice came out of the radio. Patrick grabbed the microphone. "Hello, Mr. Gray."

Mr. Gray swore that he almost had a heart attack. "How did you…?" "Enough. Your plan of bombing the Vatican ends this very moment." Mr. Gray had to chuckle. "Patrick, Patrick…Patrick…my dear boy, you see, I always have a back-up plan. Whether using that bomb or any other way, the Holy See will cease to exist." Mr. Gray said calmly.

"WHAT?!" Patrick's voice might have bounced over the Apennines.

"Go on, Angelo. Tell him why, you cowardly bastard." Mr. Gray said. "Patrick…this is a chopper set to malfunction any moment now. It has a defect but is enabled to fly for at least half an hour. This helicopter is laden with explosives. Even I don't know where they are." Angelo said, his English thickly accented.

A beeping sound was heard. It was loud, deep…it meant danger. "There you go, Patrick. Get ready to die," Mr. Gray said. "I'll get out of this, Mr. Gray. Don't you remember something important about me?" "And what should remember about you, Patrick McKenna?" Mr. Gray asked with a sneer.

"I know how to operate a helicopter."

"DAMN IT! I thought you were just acting!" Mr. Gray yelled as Patrick turned off the microphone.

"Angelo…" "Mr. McKenna, please, please…I don't want to die." Angelo said, looking at the former priest. "Just promise me you won't be a traitor." The pilot nodded. "Don't stray from the path. I could see the river." Patrick said, going to the back and taking the explosive. Rome came into view. As soon as Patrick saw the Tiber, he took the explosive and waited for the right time to drop it, observing the wind current.

He could hear Angelo murmuring prayers. Patrick dropped the bomb from the door. It fell down…down…down into the murky waters. Even if it did explode in the Tiber, the damage would be relatively lower than on ground. The helicopter was now cruising at an unbelievable speed. It was heading straight for the dome of St. Peter's.

"I can't control it anymore!" Angelo yelled. Patrick went back to the front and edged it away from the citadel. He could see numerous police officers and civilians in the square. _No, they won't be harmed. I'll make sure of that._ The chopper was turning the dome into its bulls-eye. "We have to land the chopper somewhere! Anywhere!" Angelo said.

"I can't land it here in the square. The airport's too far…this thing can blow up." The radio sounded again. "Patrick, Angelo, I forgot to tell you that the explosives at the back are timed. I hope you're already at the Vatican. So, either way, I still win. By the way, you have 1 minute and 30 seconds left before I see your charred corpses somewhere in St. Peter's Square." Mr. Gray said and then went off.

He went on again, "Oh, and Angelo, _make sure_ that it crashes."

Patrick wanted to pull out all of the hair on his head. He tried to keep the chopper away from the Vatican. "Look, I think we can make sure this crashes into a place without people…near the Valle dell'Inferno. I know this sounds crazy, but we have to jump off this chopper. Leave everything behind. We have to share that parachute." Patrick said.

"But, I'm afraid of heights!" Angelo said. "I was too, but you have to keep faith. We have to make sure no civilian is hurt. We have to make sure we're alive. Come on." Angelo went off, carrying the parachute. Patrick tied a few strings to himself, and the others to Angelo. "Are you ready?" he asked.

Angelo just nodded, almost nauseous seeing the panorama. "At the count of three, we jump, alright. One…two…THREE!" together, they jumped out the helicopter door. Patrick opened the parachute. It was working. They drifted away slowly, watching the chopper miss the dome of St. Peter's and go straight into a vacant lot.

The timer on the explosives showed "00:00" on their little screens. In a second, civilians saw tufts of smoke behind the dome. They were thinking that it had hit the gardens, but they were dead wrong. It had hit the vacant lots near Valle dell'Inferno. Charred remains of the helicopter rained on the dry ground.

The Swiss Guard and the police tried to calm the panicking crowds. Cameras sprouted from everywhere, taking pictures of the blast. They barely noticed the white parachute floating down into the Square, with two people ready to go down.

"Mamma, mamma! Look!" a little child told his mother, pointing to the sky, "It's a bird!"

Of course, it wasn't.

The crowd started cheering. It reminded Patrick of Conclave…looking out, he could see white smoke from the crash site.

* * *

Chartrand, Sergeant Haber and Helena were walking through Piazza Navona, not saying a word to each other. That was until they saw the white smoke from behind the dome. "Conclave?" Helena asked. "No! Of course not…" Chartrand said, crossing his arms around his chest. "Wait…come here, both of you!" he pulled Helena and Chartrand into the nearest restaurant.

They looked at the television set, and the breaking news was focused on Vatican City. "Vatican Bombing Attempt Foiled". It graced the strip holding the news titles. "Former camerlengo Patrick McKenna and helicopter pilot Angelo Bianchi have successfully steered away a malfunctioning chopper from Vatican City. The mastermind of this attempt was a certain "Mr. Gray" who is now being hunted by the Genoese police…"

The three looked at each other. They had no other impulse but to…

"TAXI! TAXI! To the Vatican! _Pronto_! 50 Euros if you can take us there in less than 5 minutes!" Sergeant Haber ran outside, hailing a taxi. Helena and Chartrand sat at the back; Haber in the front. The cab sped away, hearing of the all-important news concerning the Holy See.

* * *

Patrick and Angelo were led by the Swiss Guard to the Apostolic Palace. They were to have an audience with the Pope, now that the crisis had ended. Commander Laguardia was relieved to have Patrick back, although he looked a bit pale and tired from all that he had been through. He knocked on the Pope's door. "Avanti." the Pontiff's gentle, calm voice sounded. The commander opened the door.

"I am glad that you are safe, my child." the former Cardinal Mortati said, running towards the former priest, embracing him. "God had been with you through all. Thank you for saving our lives." He turned to Angelo. "Thank you, also." Angelo took off his hat, falling at His Holiness' feet. "Forgive me, Father. I was a mercenary of Mr. Gray..." he said, crying. "You are forgiven. It is not important if we have once been in darkness. What is important is that you turned away and saw the light." the Pope said, gesturing for Angelo to stand up.

"Commander Laguardia, please do request for a few sandwiches and a pitcher of water. They both look terribly famished." the Pope told the commander, who saluted and left the room. "Thank you, Your Holiness. That is much appreciated." Patrick said, sighing in relief. "You had us very worried, Patrick. Three days and three nights...Helena was already at the point of breaking down." His Holiness said gravely.

Patrick's ears perked up. "Where is she?" "I asked her to take a stroll with Chartrand and Sergeant Haber, but I doubt they're walking. I am sure they have heard the news and might come here like raging bulls." the Bishop of Rome chuckled, as Commander Laguardia and a subordinate came in with a plate of sandwiches, two glasses and a pitcher of water. Patrick and Angelo ate heartily, finishing all the contents of the given platters. Commander Laguardia's eyes glowered.

While Patrick was drinking a glass of water, he and his companions could hear noises outside. Two male voices, one female voice...and they all sounded agitated. Someone's heels were already scraping the tiled floor. "No! Do not enter yet! Let them have a moment of peace!" Commander Laguardia argued with them outside. "Oh, come on! She's his girlfriend! Cut her some slack!" Sergeant Haber said, with a theatrical sigh. Patrick's eyes teemed with excitement.

"I told you they'd come like raging bulls." the Holy Father faced him.

"Angelo, I'd like you to meet my--" Patrick said, but was interrupted by a door flinging open and an all-too familiar person rushing towards him. Angelo let out a helpless wolf-whistle. Luckily, Helena did not hear it, or else she might have kicked him even if they were in His Holiness' office. She almost choked Patrick in her embrace. "I hope I'm not dreaming," she said, tears gushing out of her eyes. "You aren't..." Patrick said, clutching her tighter. "You're safe...I dreamt of you...me...over the clouds...souls flying," "Sssssssshhhh...." Patrick quieted her, knowing exactly what she meant.

"Isn't that a happy ending?" Sergeant Haber asked, sighing deeply and with a goofy smile. Commander Laguardia rolled his eyes. "Hopeless romantic," he muttered, "Chartrand...please make them break the embrace. We have important things to discuss." But Chartrand was busy sighing together with Sergeant Haber. "I should date Bella again..." he said.

"Eheeeeeemmmmm!" Commander Laguardia cleared his throat rather loudly. "Oh, we're sorry, Commander." Patrick said, as he and Helena broke the embrace. "Oh, let them be, Commander. You're probably envious because you don't experience such affection, am I right?" His Holiness asked, with a knowing smile. The Swiss Guard official sighed. "I have to get an affidavit from Patrick and Mr. Bianchi. They are to be the star witnesses if Mr. Gray is to be tried...if by God's grace he will be caught."

"We have time for that...don't worry, Commander. By the way, Patrick, I remember, before your excommunication, I told you that you can choose from the many paths the future holds for you. Have you made a decision yet?" His Holiness asked, smiling. "Yes, Your Holiness. I have made a decision. I'm sure this is the best path I can think of. I won't regret it. Of course, I have to know if Helena also agrees with me." Patrick dusted his clothes, making himself seem presentable again.

"Patrick...what do you mean? You're going to be a priest again?" she asked.

"No...I can't marry if ever I become a priest, right?" Patrick asked. Helena wiped the tears off her eyes and pushed his head playfully. "Of course, you could say no. It would be alright with me," he said. "Can we get straight to the point? Both of you are too evasive." Angelo said impatiently. "Alright, Angelo. I'll go straight to the point," he faced the only woman who was in the room,

"Helena, will you marry me? Well...the ring will follow, I promise..."

"Ring or no ring...yes, I will marry you." Helena said. "May I be your wedding officiator?" His Holiness asked. Both of them smiled, meaning "yes". "NOW, CAN I GET PATRICK TO SIGN SOME AFFIDAVITS FOR WITNESSING?" Commander Laguardia said. "Yes, you may. Go now. Feliz will bounce off the walls when he sees you," Helena said, as they all left, including Mr. Bianchi, the pilot.

As His Holiness closed the door, he saw a 20 Euro bill on the floor, with a note which read, "You won. -Danilo"_ I knew it.._ His Holiness thought, picking up the bill and keeping it in his desk. He would give it back to Commander Laguardia anyway.

* * *

Later, that afternoon, Patrick was praying in front of two gravestones in Rome's Verano Cemetery. The graves were those of Inspector Ernesto Olivetti and Commander Rocher of the Swiss Guard. He was praying that both of them would forgive him for his past actions. His crimes were the reason why they died.

_I don't know if you both will forgive me...but now, I can be sure that the Holy See is safe, just the way you two envision it to be. If ever you watched over me during the experience in the chopper, thank you. I'll remember you both...especially now that I'm getting married. I hope both of you are in a better place than this world._

_Eternal rest grant onto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May they rest in peace. Amen._

"Patrick!" a high-pitched voice came from behind him. Patrick quickly did a sign of the cross and looked back. A bit short, with brown hair and bright green eyes, it was none other than Leonardo Silvestri, the Pope's nephew, and a _Polizia di Stato_ officer. "Leonardo!" the younger man ran towards the former camerlengo. "I'm glad you're safe, Patrick. I was on an airplane when everything happened. I tried to catch the quickest plane from Genoa," he said.

"Thank you for the concern, Leonardo. How's the situation?" Patrick asked, walking with him towards the cemetery gate. "It's good news for you, Patrick. The authorities caught Mr. Gray an hour ago. He was trying to escape via sea but he was caught by the coast guard during a random ship inspection. He is currently awaiting trial for three cases...the same ones you said earlier." Leonardo said, quite happy to deliver the news.

"That's good, then. I would like to congratulate you and the force," Patrick held out his hand. Leonardo firmly shook his hand. "But you are the real hero, Patrick. I salute you," Officer Silvestri saluted Patrick the way he would honor his superiors in the police force. "Come, I'll drive you, Patrick. Where do you want to go?" Leonardo said, taking out his keys. "Home...near Piazza Navona, please." Patrick said.

Patrick thanked the officer for driving him to Helena's flat. Leonardo went back to the station, hoping that Marino was not angry anymore. Patrick stared at the door, looking for the secret key in the doorway held by a spring. Luckily, he found it. He used it to open the door of the flat. He put the key back in its place, turning the knob of the door. He heard sharp barks from the inside, and saw the most beautiful dog he had ever seen in his entire life. Wagging its tail, the dog was eager to find him home.

Patrick entered the house, only for Feliz to pounce on him and lick his face. The Siberian husky did not want to stop...until it saw its other master looming above them with a smile on her face.

"We missed you very much, Patrick. Welcome home."

* * *

Technically, yay...it's finished! :D But I'll be posting a surprising little epilogue soon enough. Wait for that!

Thanks to everyone who read/reviewed/put into his/her favorite this piece of fiction. Your support and reviews helped me finish this even if time runs against me.

-TDYSG


	11. Epilogue

Of course, I profoundly apologize that this piece of fiction would have to end. I hope this epilogue would suffice for me to voice out my sincere gratitude for the overwhelming support of my readers old and new. I must say, that **An Angel's Redemption** and **Into the Deepest Darkness **are the fanfics I consider as my _magnum opus_ for the time being.

The Final Disclaimer: I don't own Angels and Demons, nor the Vatican, NOT EVEN Rome.

* * *

**Out of the Dark: An Epilogue**

His blue eyes were peering out a huge window. _Though I've seen it many times, this view never bores me._ He straightened out the long, black sleeves of the _**cassock **_he was wearing. _It's a good thing it still fits me._ Patrick McKenna's fingers ran over the glass window panes, looking like a child on his first trip to the museum.

"Come here, Patrick!"

Patrick turned around, facing a photographer with a Nikon D5000 mounted on a tripod. His picture was taken in black and white, not needing any other light source. The sunbeams from the window were enough to bathe him in light. Of course, where else would the window give such a beautiful view and an abundance of sunshine? Why, they were in the Pope's office…with permission of course.

There were two men behind the camera, their faces partly covered by the object. Three other people stood by the door, namely: His Holiness, Chartrand and Commander Laguardia. One of the men behind the camera lifted his head and gestured for the man to come. Patrick walked towards them, eager to see the photograph.

The face revealed was that of Robert Langdon.

"Well, I have to say that you look great. This will be the front cover photo of the book!" Robert said, his rage towards Patrick probably annihilated by the latter's heroism. Professor Langdon had of course heard of the terrorist plot that he stopped.

"BOOK?!" Patrick exclaimed, obviously clueless.

"Yes, Patrick. Professor Langdon here expressed his interest to write your biography. Needless to say, I granted him permission to use the cassock, my office as the venue for photography and interviewing and permission to write the book itself," the former Cardinal Mortati, now, the Pope, answered.

"Why didn't you tell me about this earlier, Your Holiness?" Patrick said. "I wanted it to be a surprise, Patrick. It might go to your head if you find out someone's expressing a desire to write your life story," Cardinal Mortati said, smiling. _Very sapient, Your Holiness…very sapient._

"I've never heard of such a tale. History gives us people who turn from traitor to patriot but…it never came this far. That's why I've decided to write a book about you! Besides, His Holiness himself gave such an approval," Robert continued.

"I appreciate your words, Professor Langdon, but there are true saints who have gone further than what I have done." Patrick said, still unable to part with his priestly mien. "You're too modest, Patrick. Call me Robert," the taller, older man said, "Now, where were we? Norman, show him the photo!"

The photographer nodded, moving the camera towards the former priest. "You make a good subject, Mr. McKenna…you remind me of some mythical hero," Norman said, displaying the photo on the camera screen. "Thank you," he said.

A series of light knocks were heard. Chartrand faced the door and opened it, revealing someone who could call the Vatican her third home, besides her flat and the police station.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," her voice was a bit deeper than what you would expect from a woman, but it was pleasing to the ear. She saluted the two Swiss Guards and kissed His Holiness' hand. "Ah, Professor Langdon, I would like to introduce you to my wife, Helena Maria Gallego-McKenna," Patrick walked towards her, taking her right hand, the one not holding a dark blue beret which was part of her uniform.

The law enforcer was usually radiant, but today, she seemed a bit tired, though it was overshadowed by her glowing cheeks and warm eyes.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Helena, if I may call you as such," Professor Langdon said, shaking her hand. "The pleasure is all mine, Professor Langdon," Helena said, giving him a firm shake. "Oh, please, Robert is just fine. I have once worked with your husband, although in different circumstances. Are you Italian, Mrs. McKenna?" he said.

"No, I am half-Spanish, half-Filipino," Helena said. "Interesting…would you like to see your husband's photos?" Robert asked as Norman prepared to show her the photos. "Of course, I want to know what he's been up to." Helena said.

The newly-minted Special Inspector-Substitute Commissioner was shown the photographs taken by Norman. It seemed that the photographer was quite charmed with her. He even decided that husband and wife be taken together.

"It is a surprise, although pleasant, that you are here. Tell us, Helena, why have you graced us with your presence? You do look a bit…ill." His Holiness asked her. "Well, I do feel out of sorts, Your Holiness, that's why I went to the doctor. He told me it was nothing serious--excuse me. Please forgive me, Your Holiness." She ran quickly to the bathroom of the Pope's office.

Patrick ran to the bathroom but Commander Laguardia held him back. "Congratulations," he said with a toothy smile. "Huh? Commander, what is celebratory about my wife being ill?" Patrick asked, perplexed. "Don't you know that it is a sign of good news?" Robert held the ex-priest by the shoulder.

Patrick's blue eyes became as large as they could ever be. A few moments later, he was in the Sistine Chapel, praising God endlessly.

* * *

Rui Cristina McKenna was in many ways like her mother. They had the same wavy black hair and warm brown eyes. Both were strong-willed, feisty and quite snarky at times. Tall and wise beyond her six years of age, everyone who saw her could not doubt that Helena was indeed her parent.

She had a twin brother, Gabriel Vesper, who was just as striking as their father, Patrick. The boy was a redhead, with bright blue eyes and an unfailing smile. Gabriel was a calm, logical child who had a daredevil streak at times. He had a penchant for running into trouble and slipping out of it quickly afterwards.

One cold Saturday afternoon, Rui sat together with Feliz, the 8-year old Siberian husky that the family held dear. "You know, Feliz, I wish you could talk. I'm sure you knew about how _Mamma_ and _Papà_ met," she said, stroking the black and white fur of their canine companion.

Gabriel came into the room. "He won't talk…he's a dog! But still, maybe it would be cool if Feliz could talk." He sat down beside Feliz, being nudged by the dog's cold nose. "Well, why do you need Feliz to answer that question for you, children?" a female voice came from the doorway of the living room.

"Mamma!" the twins rose up to embrace their mother, all decked out in a trenchcoat and high-heeled boots. She had to stoop down just to embrace her children. "Wait for me there. I'll just change my clothes and then I'll tell you the story." Helena said, winking at her son and daughter. "Feliz!"

The dog stood up when she called him. It walked over to her and barked loudly, wagging its tail. "I hope the kids haven't harassed you. Watch them while I'm upstairs, alright?" Helena scratched the dog's head and went upstairs.

Helena had remained with the _Polizia di Stato_. Now, she was the commissioner of the station she had formerly worked as an Inspector for. Simon Marino, her former boss, had been promoted as well. Patrick on the other hand, was a part-time Literature lecturer at the Sapienza University of Rome and a full-time professor of Theology at the Pontifical Lateran University.

* * *

"Really? Auntie Bella was drunk on your first date with dad?" Rui asked, as she and her brother burst into laughter. "Yes, she was very, very drunk. So was your Uncle Chartrand." Helena said.

Her best friend, Bella Angela Moretti, and the now-Captain Chartrand of the Swiss Guard, were both godparents to the children. She had instructed both to call them "aunt" and "uncle", respectively.

Mr. Augusto Franco, the bookshop owner who had been Patrick's employer, also became a godparent, and always gave books during Christmas.

The Pope was also a godfather of the children; both were welcome at the Vatican at any time. He was never known as "uncle". He was still addressed as "His Holiness". Patrick had stressed that many times to the children.

"Well, I had to apologize to your dad since I thought both of them ruined the special night, but he was a good sport. It so happened that I took him to the Colosseum…you remember the large oval building we went to last November?" the children nodded. "Yes, that place…I was standing on the edge…"

"Isn't that dangerous?" Gabriel asked. He flung his blue eyes to the doorway and saw his father sneaking in. Patrick had instructed him and Rui to stay silent using hand gestures. "It almost ended in death for me because…"

"She dangled on the edge of the rocks and almost fell…but then, I was there." Patrick emerged from behind the chair and looked at the priceless face of his wife. The children were laughing at their father's successful attempt at surprise. "Patrick…I almost had a heart attack!" Helena yelled.

"You're too young for that…and I wouldn't let that happen, right?" he answered, leaning closer.

"Oh no….ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!" Gabriel said, grabbing Rui by the hand and going somewhere else.

Patrick raised an eyebrow as he saw his children scamper to the upper floor. "What did I do now?" he asked. "They probably thought we were going to kiss…and from what he's been hearing, he thinks kissing gives you the 'cooties'." Helena said.

Patrick shook his head, laughing. "Of course, it doesn't…and I've been kissing you for eight years. See, no 'cooties'…or whatever those are." he said. "Now, where were we?" Helena said.

"_Mamma_! Gabriel got locked in the closet again!" Rui screamed from the second floor. Helena and Patrick shook their heads. "Not again…" they said, rushing up the stairs.

-LA FINE-

* * *

I must acknowledge my readers, as well as my numerous sources which have allowed me to spin a more realistic tale. I thank the creators of the Internet. They made research much easier. Online maps, encyclopedias, travel sites, even the Vatican website has helped me to write a story in a place I can only dream of going to.

Grazie, grazie, e grazie…


End file.
